Connection
by Kayt
Summary: PostReloaded: Smith told Neo of a connection between them. A slower crew member is sent to find out just what that connection is. As the line between man and machine blurs, both she and Neo will be forced to make a choice... This is AU with Revolutions.
1. Mission

Cat had no illusions about her strange new assignment. It was more than likely a convenient - and polite - way to get rid of her.  
  
She was more of a liability than anything else in the Matrix, always a little slower than the others. They blamed it on her baggy clothing; Trinity was forever badgering her about the comfort and utility of catsuits. What she couldn't bring herself to tell them was that she would be self-conscious to the point of paralysis in anything so revealing. How she managed to stay chubby on a steady diet of single cell...  
  
When Neo had approached her about the mission, she smelt a rat immediately. After all, Neo could clobber Smith - or even Smiths. There was no reason why anyone had to be sent to find out his new limitations and capabilities. It had to be a matter of curiosity, if it was even that. It was more likely an excuse to get her out of the way during the crew's forays into the Matrix dressed up as a mission of such import that she was lucky that it had drifted her way.  
  
Sometimes, it was so damn easy to get tired of Neo. Cat thought that he wore on even Trinity, who at first glance was devoted beyond belief. The captain would never ask for help, but sometime Neo's insecurities grated on her already-fraying nerves, and Cat's silent understanding came as needed support. Cat admired her toughness, the steel core that saw her through Neo's many near-death experiences and her own harrowing escapes from the digital prison. It was much easier to envy her, though, with her perfect figure in its little black catsuit, perfect boyfriend, easy confidence.  
  
It was impossible to run any shorter handed than the Neb had before its little accident. Morpheus was all but useless in the grips of his crisis of faith, and though Link never complained, his wavering commitment to endless months onboard anyone's ship was obvious. Cat's skills, moderate as they were, were absolutely necessary to Neo and Trinity if they planned to navigate their way back into the Matrix. No one else was crazy enough to take them on board, which is why they settled for Link's patch job on her run-down ship and a promise to keep her on if only Trinity could take over at the captain's chair.  
  
In two short weeks, her weaknesses were written all over the missions. Trinity had barely avoided the upgraded agents last time, taking a shot in the lower calf as she ran back to extricate the slower Cat from a well- timed ambush. It was clear that she was no fit sidekick for the One and his mate.  
  
Neo'd asked her to do this thing the next day. She'd pretended, just for a moment, that the flirtatious look in those famous eyes was genuine, that he saw her as just as beautiful as his latex-clad Trinity. At least the fat was good for something this time; she'd have to stay plugged in until the ship came back for her, although it might take as long as a month if it ran into trouble. Trinity, she thought with some satisfaction, would starve to death.  
  
Trinity looked a little sad as she dropped Cat off beside the ruined Neb, which Link had somehow managed to patch together into a safe connection for one person. It was a rare moment when she felt a perfect affinity for the woman; her ship, her Sekhmet, was her life. The devastation that flicked across Trinity's features was for more than a hunk of metal.  
  
Cat barely caught Trinity's "good luck" as the older woman turned away, unable to watch this stranger enter what remained of her ship. "Thanks," she whispered back, rattling at the old keyboard before she began the unpleasant process of tube insertion necessary for a stay of any length in the Matrix. Assimilating into the Matrix with no operator, especially for a length of time, was a dangerous feat; even Neo had never tried to pull it off. It was necessary, he'd said, to keep Smith from getting suspicious. After all, the traitor could hardly make her offer with the One watching.  
  
She would never have considered doing something this crazy before, she thought as she slid a hydration IV into her left arm. This mission was more than half-suicidal, but she was willing to do anything to get away from Neo and Trinity. It was strange to think that she'd voluntarily leave her ship, but now it was so different, so empty. The contrast between the old crew and the new one couldn't have been stronger.  
  
Stop delaying the inevitable, she told herself. You're half-sulking, half-terrified and the longer you stay here the worse it'll get.  
  
Cat closed her eyes as the metal spike slid into its place. She barely had time to blink before the arm slammed around her throat. 


	2. Purpose

Cat fought the urge to struggle against the chokehold, forcing herself to relax against her captor as she identified the familiar suit sleeve. "Isn't this interesting?" His voice was just as she had imagined it. A little choppy, a little mechanistic, snideness oozing over liquid calm. "One might think you meant to be here."  
  
"Of course. I'm not that bad a hack." The words sounded a trace bitter even through the breathlessness of his chokehold.  
  
If he had been human, Smith would have cursed. At times like these he almost missed his connection to the mainframe; its omniscience would have helped him identify the girl immediately. But no matter. His free arm reached for his holster.  
  
"Wait." It was the calm that did it. No human, unplugged or not, should sound so self-assured when held so powerless. His arm stilled.  
  
After a few moments, the girl had not moved or spoken. "I begin to question the utility of my inaction."  
  
"Aren't you going to ask me why I'm so confident that you won't kill me?"  
  
"No. I am simply going to wait."  
  
"You don't strike me as a patient man."  
  
"I am not." His arm tightened around her throat until Cat saw spots.  
  
"Let me go." A gasp, barely formulated words. Smith was curious enough now to loosen his arm again. "Let me go. I'd prefer to speak without your wrist in my voice box. You can catch me easily if I run."  
  
His arm loosened a little more, still firm but no longer painful. His hands skimmed her sides, arms, belly then released her. She remained still as he continued his weapons check, his uninterested hands sliding up the leather boots that were her fanciful indulgence and then under her skirt.  
  
Cat bit her lip, regretting her unconventional clothing. She had chosen it carefully, black on black to match the garb of almost every freed human. Instead of the uber-trendy getups they favored, though, her sensible business suit resembled what an Agent might wear if she were female. The jacket that hit mid-thigh, nearly as long as the dress underneath, was very forgiving. Right now she'd trade for one of Trinity's ridiculous pantsuits, though. Then the Agent's hands couldn't access her unprotected flesh.  
  
She had to admire the detailed programming that produced a hand that felt so human. She told herself that it belonged to a program, a collection of zeros and ones that was currently assessing her as a threat, nothing more. Her body, taken in by the program that created everything from a slightly antiseptic scent to rough patches on the pads of the fingers, betrayed her mind.  
  
She tried to force focus. He could probably smell the pheromones. It wouldn't do to jeopardize this joke of a mission before it got off the ground.  
  
It couldn't have been more than two seconds before her shoved her away roughly, a little breathless. Perhaps he would attribute it to the chokehold. "Thanks," she said, rubbing her neck a little. He only folded his arms, her reflection staring back at her from the glasses that replaced eye contact. She fought the urge to swallow nervously.  
  
"Agent Smith?" Nod. "Good. I am glad to see that my skills haven't slipped that far. I'm Cat." The ridiculous urge to offer her hand passed quickly. "I work on Neo's new ship."  
  
He bent toward her slightly when she said Neo's name. He was surely an obsession. Cat's confidence surged back. If Smith wanted this information that badly, the situation had been neatly defused. "He sent me here. He told me to work out the nature of the connection between you two, to probe for your weaknesses." He tensed. "He sent me, in other words, to get killed." A curl of the lip. She wished she could see his eyes, wondered if it would do any good to look into the eyes of a program. "After the sentinels blew up his old ship, he needed new transportation. My ship, everybody died except me on the last jaunt into the Matrix. I wanted to come back out, to get away from that place." Her lip curled, an unconscious imitation of the Agent in front of her. "I told them they could have the ship if I came along with it. They've been trying to get rid of me ever since."  
  
"As much as I hate to oblige Mr. Anderson," the gun crept out of its holster, "I can see no reason to extend my mercy."  
  
"That's because you didn't let me finish," she snapped. "I can help you fulfill your purpose."  
  
"I hardly think you can be trusted to exterminate your own movement."  
  
She stepped toward him, eyes locked on her own reflection in his sunglasses. "Oh, Agent Smith. I thought you would have realized by now that the minute he infiltrated you, that was your purpose no longer." It was a gamble, a big one. She wiped the moisture from her brow and dangled her hand in front of him. "You used to worry that you had been infiltrated by this. But he deposited something much more permanent inside you." His jaw clenched; Cat straightened out of pure fight-or-flight reflex. "You are no longer part of the collective, Agent. Its purpose is no longer yours."  
  
"Enlighten me."  
  
"You need to exterminate Neo. You can only hope that will remove whatever filth he left behind in you." His lips compressed, a small muscle in his jaw twitching. "What have you got to lose, Agent? Without me, you can continue to search for him, maybe get lucky from time to time. At worst, that stays the same with my help. At best, I lead you to him. I point out his weaknesses to you." His face had settled again, expressionless. Cat felt the fear creep back into her at that.  
  
"Ms."  
  
"Cat."  
  
"Isn't that an animal? Agile. Sleek?" She couldn't stop herself from flinching.  
  
He is a program, Cat told herself. There's no use crying because of a conglomeration of digits.  
  
"Surely your real name is not quite so inaccurate."  
  
"It's Catherine. Catherine Thompson."  
  
"Very well, Ms. Thompson. Come here."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I am going to interrogate you." 


	3. Plan

She was irritatingly tall, for a human female. Smith was unused to looking one of them in the eye. Still, it was satisfying to see the fear flicker through her visual processors. Her composure, then, was just a façade. He had to give her credit for maintaining it so meticulously.  
  
She flinched, he noted, as he put his hands to her head. Good. She was properly cowed. He squeezed a little harder than was necessary just to drive the point home.  
  
Smith was not used to uncertainty. It had never been a part of his existence until Anderson had radically altered him, and every time the unwelcome signifier of imprecision intruded on him his hatred for its cause grew.  
  
Right now, he questioned his interrogation software's effectiveness with unplugged humans. At least he retained his abilities, despite his dissociation from the mainframe. He had never relied on asking questions for his information. When he didn't query the Source for the information he sought, his reconnaissance coding allowed him to scan the data compiled by any being in the Matrix. This Thompson stood before him as a creature of code...  
  
Good. It worked. And moreover, it seems she had been telling the truth, right up to the purpose of this mission. It seemed that Anderson had specifically told her to camouflage her purpose, and from the looks of things there had been no love lost between the two. Perhaps this offer was genuine.  
  
He snarled as he released her. He would never have required aid to track anyone, particularly one of his primary targets, before. He was exposed without the omniscient collective, and as even the human in front of him had noted, he was without programmed purpose. By all rights, he should have been deleted. In fact, he had been required to report for deletion. This human had guessed why he had overridden his program and chosen the life of an exile. Somehow, he had become attached to existence. He would destroy the one who had tainted his, and perhaps be allowed exist within acceptable parameters again. He was not flawed. He would demonstrate that.  
  
She was looking at him. He had wasted nearly a minute in useless contemplation. "Very well, Ms. Thompson. Your continued existence is valuable to me."  
  
"Thanks." He didn't smile at her sarcasm. Had she really expected him to? It was so easy to forget that he wasn't human. Certainly, he was dour and reserved, but there were people like that. He reminded her strongly of the unpleasant stock broker uncle who had come over for a few stiff dinners with her family before she had been unplugged. And his hands felt so very real...  
  
He was staring at her now, arms crossed over his chest in what she had already noticed was a characteristic gesture. Well, she assumed he was staring at her, but those thrice-damned sunglasses made it impossible to tell. Not, she thought, that it would help to look at his eyes.  
  
"Well?" He didn't reply. She crossed her arms to mirror him, staring into the blank lenses of his glasses.  
  
He moved first, several minutes later. "This grows tiresome."  
  
"Look, I didn't come here to be some sort of lackey. You might have gotten some bootlicking from Cipher, but make no mistake. I am using you to get what I want. It happens to be what you want, too, but that doesn't mean I owe you any deference."  
  
"That is a... dangerous assertion." Smith glared from behind his glasses. This human was overconfident. Perhaps it had been a mistake to keep her alive. Some mistakes are easily rectified.  
  
"Look, Smith. You want what I've got. You don't like me, but you're not going to kill me. You can quit with the veiled threats." Cat bit her own tongue. If looks could kill... She was never this brash unless she was frightened, but it was never wise to bait an Agent - not that anyone usually got the chance.  
  
He stepped forward with the slithering speed only Agents could manage, hoisting Cat by her jacket collar before the movement registered. Her already-abused neck began to bleed as Smith yanked her in closer, his voice a modulated whisper. "You may indeed be useful. That remains to be seen. I find myself reluctant to gamble on your future utility when suffering your present insolence." He shook her violently before letting her fall in an indecorous heap.  
  
Some of Cat's self-preservation reasserted herself; she remained silent as she tucked her legs beneath her. Smith's face had fallen back into its carefully blank default, but she knew she'd seen anger, contempt, obsession, malice on it, and all within the span of a few minutes. That certainly seemed like evidence of emotion, but Morpheus had seen that before Neo had entered Smith. Perhaps this was a greater variety? None of the feelings had been positive. Then again, she thought, Smith would hardly be all smiles just now if he was capable of the same range of emotions that she was. "I'm sorry."  
  
She thought the skin around his eyebrows puckered. Had he narrowed his eyes? "You know, I'd find it a lot easier to talk to you if you'd take those glasses off." He remained motionless. She sighed. "All right. At least have a seat so I don't have to look up at you." He sat stiffly with his knees propped nearly to chin level. She'd been half-expecting him to spread his suit jacket on the ground. Surely it would take more than a little grass to violate his immaculate suit, though. "Well? Ask away. I'm not sure what you want to know."  
  
"You seemed quite certain of that." She didn't answer. Two could play his game. When he spoke, his head focused forward. Was he simply rude, or was this an imperfection in his simulation of human behavior? "What are his weaknesses?"  
  
"Why don't you look at me when you're talking to me?" If she'd stopped to think it through, it would never have happened. As it was, Cat glanced nervously at Smith's holster as she snatched the sunglasses from his face and tucked them into his collar. "There."  
  
He seemed to take it almost too calmly, pressing his lips into a thin line but saying - and doing - nothing. Cat filed that away for future consideration. "You already know the biggest one: Trinity. Catch her and he'll do anything, and I mean anything, to rescue her. You should have as many clear shots as you want, because he won't leave without her."  
  
His lip curled. "That is pitifully obvious. If you came here..."  
  
"Let me finish." His eyes narrowed again; apparently, Smith wasn't used to being interrupted. "I wouldn't want to go against Neo in a direct fight. You've tried that. No matter how many copies there are, you can't beat him that way. He'll just take off. And he can see you coming, even without an Operator to tell him it's you. You don't read like anything else, you know. Not an Agent, not any of those rogue programs, nothing. We know it's you."  
  
Smith opened his mouth again. "Jesus, you weren't lying when you said you weren't patient. Let me finish." He really didn't like it when she silenced him. That settled that; his eyes signaled anger as clearly as hers might. "Trinity doesn't have that advantage. If I feed you the location of our next entrance - if I manage, say, to get myself caught on the way out... She'll come back for me, she has before. Better, if I can communicate with you somehow from the real world..."  
  
"That can be arranged."  
  
"The best thing of all would be to create some situation where it was necessary for us to venture into a crowd. You're too easy to see, even for Trinity, when you're out by yourself. That suit is a dead giveaway. And even if we dress you up, any Operator can pick you out no problem. If there are many people, then you might just blend in."  
  
"I doubt that you can induce this Trinity," he spat the name like a curse, "to enter a crowd. She has proven cautious in the past."  
  
"I think I know a way." She paused. His eyes bored into her, his gaze intense enough that she understood his preference for shades. She felt threatened in spite of herself. "Can you get me to the Oracle?"  
  
"Yes." The way he spoke evoked a little of Neo. Cat wondered whether the One's emotionless voice was natural to him, or was a little bit of Smith's personality manifesting itself in its other shell. She bet that it was natural; Smith conveyed much more with his sinister tones. How was it possible that a fabricated voice could have more nuance than the genuine article?  
  
"Can you do it when I'm not with you? You know, have her send me a summons after I'm back on the Sekhmet? Trinity believes her absolutely, and no one else can or will snoop on what she actually says to me. I can cook up something about a mind that must be freed, that we need very badly. I think we need to go fetch this person from God knows where..."  
  
"She apprehended Anderson in a night club."  
  
"Do you know which one?"  
  
"Yes. It was near his home."  
  
"Was?"  
  
"It was destroyed in favor of a more lucrative establishment."  
  
"Well, so much for that idea. Another club, then. The most popular joint that you can think of, so packed that your anomaly of code might blend in or at least be obscured."  
  
"That is acceptable."  
  
"Good. But they'll never let you in the way you are. And Trinity could pick you out, Operator or no Operator." She squinted at him critically. "The suit will have to go. But you'll still telegraph yourself for miles in a nightclub. We'll just have to work on your people skills."  
  
Smith frowned at her, stayed silent. "What I mean, Agent, is we'll have to improve a little bit on your disguise. I've got a good two weeks before they come back to get me. We'll make it so that no one can tell that you aren't human, at least at first glance." He looked like he was going to object, so Cat continued talking right over the top of him. "There's no other way you can possibly expect to catch Trinity. Nothing else is going to work, or has worked. If you have any better ideas, by all means chime right in."  
  
Smith frowned at her. Cat waited silently. The uncomfortable silence stretched on for several minutes as Cat imagined the Agent's programming whirring for a way out of this one. "Very well," he said finally. "You will assist me in augmenting my adaptability."  
  
Cat grinned. Of course, he couldn't admit that it was her idea and she was in charge. "All right, Agent. Let's get started immediately."  
  
~~~~~ A/N: Do I have a post-Reloaded Smith characterized tolerably? I worry a little about him. For one thing, I can't possibly live up to the perfect capture of Drucilla's Smith in her wonderful "Understanding." (Insert cheesy pitch here.) Yell at me if anything sounds off.  
  
Audrey A: I promise that I didn't steal Cat from you. :P I hadn't read your fic until I read your review; it seems as though our Cats share nothing but a name, in any case.  
  
Draco: This thing's a bit longer than the others. I am tempted to put this thing out in bite-sized chunks because then I can update more frequently, but I'll try to keep the chapters at a more reasonable length.  
  
Reader: You know, I had hardly spared a thought for Neo after Cat finished ripping on him. You're right; he bears a little more of a look. Let this next chapter be on your head. Cat may think ill of him, but she sees far from the whole story. 


	4. Prophecy

Trinity was uncharacteristically silent when she returned to the Sekhmet. She and Cat weren't close; Trinity well knew that she could be abrasive, and Cat hadn't exactly been forthcoming either. Still, it was a little rich to drop her straight into the arms of the most dangerous being in the digital world. It wasn't that she didn't trust Neo. It was just hard to understand some of the things he did, especially these days. She thought he'd been uncommunicative before, but that was nothing. He'd been withdrawn almost to the point of surliness since he had come to. She would have been hurt if it weren't for the near-desperate look in his eyes as he watched her.  
  
"She's in," she murmured, lacing her arms around her love. He looked preoccupied as usual these days. Trinity sighed. "I wish you could explain this to me."  
  
"So do I." Neo was reluctant to admit that he had sent a crew member into a dangerous situation based on a feeling, even if it was backed by a pronouncement from the Oracle.  
  
"Does this have something to do with the Oracle?" That much was true, at least. Neo nodded. The tension in Trinity's face eased a little. "All right." She tightened her arms. "If you wanna talk..."  
  
"I know where to find you." His hand crept up to cover hers. "You should get some rest."  
  
"Are you going to join me?"  
  
"In a bit. I think I'll blow off some steam in the practice program first." She slipped away, running her fingers through his hair before retreating.  
  
Neo felt guilty for lying to her. Well, it hadn't precisely been a lie. He was going to plug in, and it would relax him a little, with any luck. He'd discovered how to repeat Morpheus' little trick with the TV. He could load up anything he'd experienced on the screen and watch it as an outsider. It provided useful perspective, even if he hadn't quite perfected his mental editing yet.  
  
Neo closed his eyes as Link loaded him up. When he opened them, he was in the familiar lank space of the Construct with the ratty old TV in front of him. He blinked and it switched on. A little early, that. Oh, well. Close enough.  
  
***  
  
"This came for you while you were... asleep."  
  
The brusque-looking woman, who Trinity had said cared for him during whatever it was that had gone wrong, passed him the disk. It looked like the one the Oracle had sent the last time around, but after his chat with the Architect, Neo was reluctant to answer her summons.  
  
For one thing, Morpheus just wasn't the same anymore. Her prophecies had consumed his life, and there was precious little left for him when they turned up false. What there was went up in smoke with the Neb. Neo doubted that Morpheus would ever set foot on a ship again, even if Lock somehow found it in himself to grant him one. For now, the man just sat around the ship, looking like an extraneous piece of equipment.  
  
Trinity managed better, but Neo knew that she had been badly shaken. After all, she'd been with the Neb almost as long as its captain had, and that had just been one shock in a series. After all, it can't be too calming to end up dead, then lose your home, only to find that your lover has slipped into some sort of catatonia. Sometimes, when she looked at him, he could see flickers of possessiveness that had never been there before. When they were together, she was always touching him unobtrusively. Neo was sure that she was reassuring herself that he was still there, whole, not going anywhere.  
  
And he... Well, there was no time to think about how he felt. Zion was going to fall unless he did something about it, and soon. His battle with the squids had convinced him that something had fundamentally changed. His powers shouldn't last in the real world. Unless... he was carrying a bit of the Matrix with him somehow.   
  
At first he had discounted Smith's assertion of a connection. It could have been just another threat in the Agent's arsenal. Still, it hadn't sounded like a threat... and even Smith's most hate-filled comments tended to have literal basis; perhaps fabrication had been left out of his programming.  
  
Smith had good as said that he had taken some of Neo's essence in the bargain. It was pretty clear that it hadn't been his powers of Matrix manipulation, either; after all, a Smith with even a bit of the superhuman strength and speed associated with the One would have put up a better fight. Forty of then could surely have handed him a ringing defeat.  
  
That must mean... Smith could operate in the real world as though it were his natural environment in the same limited fashion that Neo could carry his powers. And the damage that Smith could wreak unplugged...  
  
That settled it. If the Oracle was anything like her old self, she would surely know of his conversation with the Architect. It might be useful to confront her, even if all she did was try to justify herself. And if she were able to shed some light on the Smith situation... He would definitely have to see this strange ship's captain about a hack.  
  
Neo stood up, wincing as his head throbbed. It was probably from his injuries, but he preferred to believe that it was because had finally started thinking for himself instead of blindly following Morpheus and the Oracle.  
  
***  
  
"Sit down, kiddo." This time Neo did it without comment. Perhaps if the Architect had not been able to fully predict him, the Oracle didn't know everything about him, either. He felt much less intimidated than he had on his earlier visits. After all, she was just a tool to steer him into the correct behaviors.  
  
The Oracle eyed him. "You've changed. Finally sitting like you're comfortable with yourself." Still, Neo remained silent. The old woman sighed. "I understand that you're a little bit angry with me. Would you have believed me if I told you? I did what I could. You made that choice, kiddo, and if I hadn't led you to the Keymaker you would never have had the chance to do it."  
  
"You knew that the Prophecy was wrong all along, and let us all go on believing it."  
  
"What makes you think it was wrong?"  
  
"Zion hasn't been saved, has it?"  
  
"Have you been to the source?" Neo was silent at that one. The old woman sighed. "Is there any sense offering you candy?"  
  
"Don't you already know the answer to that?" The bright red wrapper crinkled as she pressed it into Neo's palm.  
  
"We've been over this before. You have some new questions or you wouldn't have bothered to show up."  
  
"Smith."  
  
"Good. You have enough sense to put the important things first."  
  
Neo blinked at her. The woman really could read minds; he'd been dying to ask her about her role in all of this, but decided the question concerning the dangerous ex-Agent was more pressing. "He says we have a connection."  
  
"And you have come to believe him, for some reason."  
  
"Yes, I have. I think that's the reason I can feel the machines when I'm unplugged."  
  
"And you fear that, if your power can be dissociated from the Matrix, so can his?" Another nod. "You've come a long way. Almost too far."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You've got almost as much Sight as I have now. It makes lookin' at you hazy." She squinted at him. "I can't tell you much this time around. You're gonna run into someone who will help you, and you will understand how after you meet. It won't be easy for you to accept." She stared for a moment more. "Sorry, kiddo. That's all I've got."  
  
"All right." Neo stood and offered his hand to the old woman, then pulled her up as well. "I suspect we'll just have a chat the next time we meet."  
  
"You might be surprised, kiddo. In fact, I'm pretty sure you will be."  
  
"See you." He stood, still uncertain of the etiquette.  
  
"I do hope so." The Oracle smiled warmly and gave him a quick hug before walking away.  
  
***  
  
Neo sighed and turned the TV off. So much for that bright idea. The Oracle had been just as vague as he remembered.  
  
Still, it had been enough to make him listen to the nagging feeling he got whenever he saw Cat. Their encounters had seldom been friendly. Usually she'd just glared at him, plainly resentful of something. It was kind of refreshing, actually. It was unnerving to have offerings shoved in his face wherever he went. Cat's obvious dislike was welcome, real, by comparison.  
  
That nagged at him, too. Somehow or other the strange girl's antipathy for him seemed to be the key to the whole situation. One night it came to him. Smith had dealt directly with traitors in the past, to good effect. He was sure that he could smell an obvious fake, but maybe Cat's antipathy for her shipmates could convince him that she was the genuine article.  
  
The nagging had stopped then. It just... felt right. The Oracle had said he would know, and furthermore that it wouldn't be an attractive prospect. Whatever he thought about Cat, he certainly didn't want to send her to her death.  
  
The resentment that had radiated from her when Trinity had pulled off a rescue had decided him. Smith's hatred for him bordered on obsession. He'd likely grasp at anything he was offered, particularly something that had worked for him in the past. Cat made a plausible traitor. And no matter how much she disliked him, Neo was sure that she wouldn't actually sell her shipmates to the Agent. For one thing, no crew would either join her ship or take her on if her entire crew kicked the bucket a second time. For another, Cat was basically a decent human being. He didn't blame her; he wouldn't have taken kindly to strangers taking command of the Neb while he was passed over.  
  
His last, guilty, thought was that Cat wasn't good for much else, either. If his experience had taught him on e thing, it was that things happened for a reason. It was unlikely that Cat just stumbled across his path, and her performance in the past couple of weeks confirmed that she wasn't destined to help him in the Matrix itself. It was no wonder that she had been her last crew's Operator, unusual as it was for someone equipped to plug into the Matrix. With Link around, her skills in that area were extraneous also.  
  
This was it. It had to be. The Oracle had told him he'd have to go with his gut on this one, and he believed her in spite of himself.  
  
Now, if only Cat came through it unhurt... It was going to be a long two weeks.  
  
It was senseless to sit here and brood, especially with Trinity waiting. He closed his eyes, Link's signal to sever the connection.  
  
"You feeling any better?"  
  
Neo tried to smile. He'd gotten attached to the Operator, although no one could replace Tank in his mind. "Not really." He ran tired fingers through his still-stubby hair. "I think I'm going to get some rest."  
  
"Things have got to look up tomorrow. After all, it will be good to be back in Zion."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
***  
  
A/N: I'd like to apologize For some reason, Neo seemed to require a lot of ellipses and fanfiction.net puts them up as periods, making a lot of sentences appear as fragments, and several more with random periods in the middle. I'm awfully sorry to anyone who ran into this yesterday. 


	5. Interlude

Cat breathed a little easier as she stepped into the hotel lobby. Walking with Smith was definitely an experience. He'd moved at an incredible rate, shoving inconvenient people out of his way without reacting to their indignant protests. It was anything but inconspicuous.  
  
Maybe she'd work up the nerve to insist on a more moderate pace at dinner. Right now, it was nice to let her guard slip. Smith was out stalking the streets with directions to observe people, leaving her with a little room to breathe and some time to work out accommodations.  
  
The hotel clerk swallowed her story about remodeling in her apartment building without comment. That was another relief, albeit a small one. It would be inconvenient to relocate if her crew didn't call for her in two weeks' time, but getting a hotel to work with her time constraints wasn't easy.  
  
Cat flopped onto her rented bed. This afternoon had been harrowing. She really had no idea how to go about making Smith publicly presentable, but it wouldn't be wise to tell him that she was making this up as she went along. Why hadn't she thought this out beforehand? Still, he seemed to be buying it. After all, she wasn't dead yet.  
  
He'd given her some time to think by peppering her with questions about Neo. She had been too nervous to lie, or even omit things. He'd been inside her head that afternoon, and God only knows what he saw there. If she tried to cover something up, he might know and that would be the end of that. Cat was uncomfortably aware that she'd given Smith the same information Neo sought. He probably could figure out this connection business; unless she wrung something more than hostile looks and reflective silences from the Agent over the next couple of weeks, Neo would have no such option.  
  
If she hurried, there might be enough time for a bubble bath before dinner. Heaven knew the relaxation would be welcome, but somehow Cat doubted Smith would take kindly to waiting for her.  
  
***  
  
Cat came to the lobby a little early. It couldn't hurt to get things off to an amiable start. She was pretty sure that it was Smith when the revolving door sped up two notches.  
  
"Do you eat?" she blurted. Dammit. She wanted to clap her hands over her mouth like a four-year old.  
  
"I can," said Smith.  
  
"I'm sorry. I should have thought to ask that sooner."  
  
Smith just pushed back toward to revolving door. Cat caught up to him quickly, clutching his elbow before he stepped inside. "Walk slower, and try not to run into people," she hissed.  
  
Smith blinked at her, and she was suddenly aware that she was grabbing at an Agent. She loosed his elbow and walked forward without comment. The door turned at a more normal rate, at least.  
  
"Like this," she said. She'd always thought herself a brisk walker; perhaps Smith wouldn't be too annoyed with their progress.  
  
The Agent paused, his eyes dropping to her legs. Cat stopped, puzzled. "Continue."  
  
Her face colored a little as she ambled down the sidewalk until Smith called to her. "Wait."  
  
She started up again when the Agent caught up to her. His feet hit the ground in exact unison with hers.  
  
"What were you doing?" she asked.  
  
Smith blinked. "I measured the average time between your footfalls, and analyzed the pattern of your motion."  
  
Well, she had told him to walk like her! Cat stifled a giggle. "Was your afternoon productive?" She consciously pre-empted the likely response to a more normal query.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Well, that didn't work out as she'd hoped. "How so?"  
  
"I observed a number of human interactions," the Agent replied.  
  
"Well, then you must have noticed that you scare anyone who meets you half to death." Was that a smile she detected? In any case, it was gone before she could make sure.  
  
"That is the idea."  
  
"All right. Maybe it would be useful to be able to turn the menace off and on, you know?" she said, watching his eyes for reaction. After she'd removed Smith's sunglasses, she'd noticed that his eyes telegraphed his emotions quite clearly. Strange, that. Smith was easier to read than most genuine people.  
  
She didn't get one this time. Another surprise; she'd expected Smith to fight the modifications she'd suggested a little more. Jesus. Whatever this connection was, it must be pretty unpleasant.  
  
"Maybe you can try smiling. You seem to either look over-neutral or terrifying, and nothing else."  
  
Smith's mouth wrenched up into a stiff caricature of a smile. Cat's hand jumped to her throat; he looked very much like the vampires she'd read about as a child.  
  
"This isn't working," Cat sighed. She was sure she'd seen the Agent smile just a moment ago. "Maybe we're trying to force it. Well, I'm all you've got to practice on. Try keeping up a conversation with me."  
  
Smith's forehead creased. "You grew up in the country."  
  
Cat jumped, and Smith's frown deepened. "What is wrong?" he asked.  
  
"I never told you that."  
  
"The information is in your file."  
  
"Well," said Cat, "that's a big conversational no-no. I couldn't possibly tell that by looking at someone I just met. If you want to talk about something like that, ask."  
  
Smith didn't reply.  
  
"Tell you what," she said. "Let me start. Agents usually work in groups, right?"  
  
"I did not tell you that."  
  
"Well, it's a good idea to make generalizations about a person if you can, to get them talking about things they know. People like to talk about themselves, and most of the time they telegraph a little bit of information to you." Cat frowned. "Maybe you could use some of the things you've, er, downloaded about people for that. Just be careful not to make it too specific. It has to be something that you could've gathered from your direct experience with the person, or they'll be surprised."  
  
Smith looked at her without comment. "Silence is usually to be avoided with someone you've just met, too," Cat said. "If you're comfortable with someone, it's fine, but not with someone you don't really know."  
  
"I thought you would appreciate my silence more than my generalizations concerning the company you keep."  
  
Cat smiled at that and was startled to notice that Smith was smiling, too. It wasn't the rigor mortis grin from before, either. It was more of a sneer than anything, really, but at least it looked genuine. "Was that a joke, Agent?"  
  
"I believe it was, Ms. Thompson." His eyes were still crinkled. Mirth, Cat thought, looks a little unnatural on Agent Smith.  
  
"Do you make jokes with the other Agents?" she asked.  
  
"You are determined to pursue this point." His tone was sharp; Cat wondered if he suspected that she was seeking information for Neo.  
  
"Well, do you make jokes with the replicas of yourself, then?"  
  
The Agent glared. "I will not need to converse casually in the nightclub."  
  
Cat sighed, not sure whether to be glad or upset by the reprieve. It saved her the near-impossible task of training Smith to say anything other than a threat or command, but it would be much harder to accomplish the supposed goal of her presence here. Cat's stomach turned. If she returned to the ship having failed at this task, it would be full and final proof that she was useless. It wasn't that she was afraid she'd be thrown off; even if she hadn't made that bargain, the look in Trinity's eyes when she'd left Cat at the Neb told her all she needed to know. She'd understand the bond you formed with a ship you've been with for a long time. But to think they'd keep her on her own ship from pity.....  
  
Her eyes widened at the name above the door Smith held for her. The Agent had booked them at a five-star restaurant. At least the food would give her something to concentrate on, beyond this awkward silence.  
  
***  
  
Smith stared across the room at no one in particular. The girl's questions seemed innocent enough, but perhaps she was somehow seeking information for Anderson. That explained his negative reaction. It must.  
  
It was still..... strange to be dissociated with the Mainframe and all that went with it. He had spoken to Brown and Jones, although usually only confirmations and commands were necessary. They'd been created to work under him, their code variations of his own, and as a consequence their thought patterns were usually similar. They often communicated without speaking, a gesture or flicker of the eyebrow enough to induce the desired action. It had been .... efficient. Yes, that's it. Efficient.  
  
After the incident, his newfound autonomy had been marred by the loss of his combat and pursuit operatives. Smith was equipped for both the fight and the chase, but Brown's specialized speed and Jones' enforcement capabilities had been useful. The human's questions had reminded him that their utility was gone. That must have prompted the reaction.  
  
She had also inquired about his duplicates, which he had at first thought were a solution to this problem. He was the most intelligent and adaptable variety of Agent, and so these copies should have more than made up for the loss of Brown and Jones. He had initially used them for just that purpose. After his most recent conflict with Anderson, though, he had noted anomalies in their behavior. The smooth synchrony with his former colleagues was replaced by the somewhat erratic behavior of the duplicates. Each one seemed to follow a different behavioral algorithm, and their unpredictable actions severely limited their utility. Even in the fight with Anderson, their inability to cooperate smoothly had created confusion and allowed the human too many opportunities to deal blows.  
  
When Thompson had asked if he joked with his replicas, she had raised a point of uncertainty. Despite their unreliable actions, his copies seemed to follow identical thought patterns. They finished sentences or spoke simultaneously nearly every time they conversed. It was inconsistent. How could programs that thought identically act disparately?  
  
There was a logical explanation for the unsettling strength of his reaction, as for everything else. Smith glanced at the menu without interest. Perhaps he would refrain. Eating was within his capabilities, but the process wasn't particularly gratifying.  
  
The human was glancing at him, apparently trying to be inconspicuous. She looked apprehensive about something. Smith crossed his arms, waited for her to speak. "What are you having?" she whispered.  
  
He watched with interest as her face flushed. "I have not responded. Is this a typical reaction to silence?" Thompson shook her head, growing redder by the second. Smith frowned. "What induced this response?"  
  
"I'm a little outclassed by this place," Cat muttered.  
  
"The waiter can undoubtedly provide a recommendation."  
  
Thompson's color darkened further. "I was hoping you'd save me the embarrassment."  
  
Smith frowned at her. "Are you always distressed when seeking necessary information?"  
  
The girl sighed. "Never mind, then."  
  
Smith frowned again and raised a hand, summoning a waiter. "Make a suggestion for my companion."  
  
"Perhaps Madam would enjoy braised duck." Thompson remained silent. Smith scowled at her.  
  
"Perhaps not," the waiter soothed. "The chef does a wonderful breast of chicken, hand-rubbed with his special blend of spices and serve on a bed of pilaf. It is my personal favorite."  
  
"That will be acceptable," Smith said.  
  
The waiter looked a little startled, glancing at the girl. She nodded, blushing.  
  
"I will have the steak tartar." Smith sneered at the human. His bloody dinner would do little repair her present discomfort.  
  
"Shall I bring the chef's recommended wine, sir?"  
  
"Yes." Why waste words on a waiter?  
  
"And you, Madam?"  
  
"Could I have a Diet Coke?"  
  
The waiter, Smith noted, covered his discomfiture well.  
  
"You are indeed outclassed," Smith purred. Thompson burst into tears.  
  
***  
  
Thrice-damned idiot! Cat cursed herself, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin and looking anywhere but at her dinner companion. Even if it had been a stressful day, there was no excuse for behaving like this. He's just a machine, she repeated to herself. Nothing but a spiteful, malicious collection of digits.  
  
She looked up, and the malicious collection of digits faced her blandly. "Was that necessary?" he - no, not he, it - asked.  
  
Something snapped inside at that. "Was it necessary to call me outclassed? Was it necessary to humiliate me in front of the waiter? Was it necessary to cut me short on the way here, effectively ending the productivity of our association this evening?" She pushed away from the table. "I'm leaving, Agent Smith."  
  
He grabbed her wrist before she could fully stand. She would either have to sit back down or stand half-stooped, attracting even more attention. She sat.  
  
"Let me go!" she spat.  
  
"Stay." How could the Agent look so damn unperturbed about the whole thing?  
  
"Give me one good reason."  
  
"For one thing, you will waste an excellent dinner." Cat tugged her arm sharply, but the Agent's grip was firm. Smith sighed. "We can continue to converse, if you are so inclined."  
  
She yanked again. "I will not stay here for the privilege of being insulted by you. Hell, I wouldn't stay if you were going to be sweetness itself."  
  
The Agent's grip on her wrist tightened painfully. "You will stay, Ms. Thompson."  
  
"Go ahead, Smith. Break my arm. Cause a scene. You'll end up right where you were this morning. Intimidation's not going to work this time." The Agent's eyes flicked to his Desert Eagle. "Oh. You want to shoot me. Go right ahead. See if you can suddenly find Neo somehow by talking to my corpse." She tried to rise again, but Smith still held her arm. Cat could fee l herself getting hysterical. She had to get out of here NOW, before she could make things any worse than they already were.  
  
"Sit down, Ms. Thompson."  
  
Cat glared at him, no small feat from her half-bent posture. Smith had pinioned her arm, forcing her torso close to the table although the rest of her was standing.  
  
The waiter shot her a solicitous look as he passed. "Are you all right, Miss?"  
  
Cat sat down and tried to smile at him. "Yes, I'm fine. I just felt a little faint after my outburst."  
  
The waiter tutted and patted her arm. There would be no graceful exit now.  
  
"Would it be possible for the lady to step outside for a moment?" Smith asked, looking at Cat with a new expression on his face. If she hadn't known better, she might have called it concern.  
  
"There is a balcony right this way, sir." The waiter smiled, motioning for Smith to follow. He clamped down on Cat's arm and dragged her along. So much for concern.  
  
The balcony wrapped around the outside of the building they were on. Smith hauled her around the nearest corner, out of the immediate sight of the solicitous waiter. "You are attracting attention."  
  
Cat sniffed. At least she wasn't crying anymore, although she knew from experience that anyone who looked at her would be able to tell that she had been.  
  
Something white intruded on her field of vision. Cat looked up, startled. Smith was dangling his handkerchief in front of her. Thankfully, he didn't comment as she daubed at her face. She felt a little guilty when she'd finished; apparently even virtual mascara runs. Smith took the soiled handkerchief without comment. For once, Cat was grateful for his stoicism.  
  
"I didn't mean to do that," she muttered, not looking at the Agent.  
  
"I would not have spoken if I had predicted this reaction."  
  
That was surprisingly kind. It almost bordered on apology. Cat sighed. The literal-minded Smith was just stating a fact; her explosive reaction had drawn attention that neither of them wanted.  
  
She chanced a glance at Smith. He looked expectant. Waiting for an explanation. It wasn't going to be forthcoming. Smith had poked a sore spot; when she was a little girl, before she'd been unplugged, Cat's family had been pretty poor. She'd never really noticed until she'd invited one of her school friends over for dinner. Who knew that the girl had a butler, and was certainly not used to a cramped and chaotic apartment kitchen as a dining venue? The little girl had snubbed her thoroughly after that. Worse, her status as a scholarship student had spread like wildfire and her popularity had plummeted. Cat hadn't known that the old class-consciousness was still lurking in her. After all, it wasn't as if the Sekhmet had state cabins. How do you explain that kind of thing to a program, though?  
  
Cat wasn't about to. She settled on a half-truth instead. "I'm sorry, Smith. It's just been a long day. I usually have better control than this, scout's honor." She pushed her hair back. "You're the sole reason it's been tough, though. Do you think you can direct your next attack of malice at someone else?"  
  
He just blinked at her. Cat was beginning to read that as "surprised Smith."  
  
"We both have something the other wants, and, like it or not, our ends require that we work together for a while. We might as well be somewhat civil about it, don't you think? Not that I'm asking you to be nice to me," she said hurriedly. "I suppose it's your nature to tear into me a little. But.... Well, just ease up on the public humiliation, please."  
  
Smith's brow furrowed. Ah, Cat thought. Confused Smith. It was better to speak before he did. She really didn't want to analyze this right now. "You had a remarkable look on your face when speaking to the waiter. It was almost.... emotive."  
  
"I observed that reaction several times today in response to distress."  
  
Good. He'd taken the bait. "Well, you pulled it off quite nicely. If you pick up a few more general observations like that, no one will be able to tell you don't belong among us."  
  
Smith curled his lip, plainly uncomfortable with the thought. "That is the short-term goal."  
  
"Come on. We'd better get back in there before our dinner gets served." Smith gripped her arm again as she stepped forward. "Ow!"  
  
"All of the other males in this place escort the females they are with."  
  
"Not by ripping their arms off, they don't." The pain faded as Smith's grip eased. "That's much better."  
  
Dinner passed in relative peace. Cat couldn't help but watch Smith with fascination. She had told him to observe the other patrons of the restaurant while he ate. The leashed violence as he cut the steak, the deliberate cadence of his eating, the unnerving stare that caused other patrons to flinch when they noticed him all fit in with what she knew about this ma.... program. At least he was consistent.  
  
The other patrons surely thought they'd had a spat of some kind. Cat tried to look as miserable as they obviously thought she should be. Dinner flew by, between the concentration required to keep up the act and the distraction provided by the excellent food. It wasn't long before Smith took her elbow again - firmly, to be sure, but at least he wouldn't leave a bruise this time.  
  
He didn't release it during the uncomfortable walk back to her hotel. If dinner had been all right, the awkwardness that followed more than made up for it. Cat's nerve endings responded to what seemed like an attractive male in close proximity; she could squelch them only with difficulty. She kept reminding herself that not only was this "man" a program designed to kill her, he wasn't winning any awards for congeniality.  
  
Still, she felt a traitorous twinge when Smith followed her into the elevator. Anyone who saw them must have assumed that they were on a date. Come to think of it, the evening had been a close approximation of the cliché. Dinner and a stroll - with a killer program that you're pumping for information, Cat, and who drove you to tears in public, she thought. Maybe he was programmed to attract.  
  
She paused outside her door. "Why don't you wander around observing people until, say, four tomorrow afternoon? Your imitation tonight was very promising."  
  
"All right."  
  
"I need to go shopping. I don't have an operator watching me." Smith raised his eyebrows.  
  
Cat crossed her arms defensively. "Well," she said, "I didn't think to bring extra clothes with me, and I can hardly go clubbing in a business suit. At least I thought to bring lots of cash."  
  
"I will come to this room at four," the Agent said. Cat nodded, watched him as he retreated to the elevator.  
  
When the door closed him off, she slumped against the entry to her room. Jesus Christ. It was too much to handle, she thought. This is just too much to handle. Maybe things will look better in the morning. She snorted softly. And maybe Smith would be easy to get on with, too. Pigs might fly.  
  
******* A/N: I'm sorry that I took longer than usual to update. It's partially because this chapter is so long, and partially because I worked extra-hard to make it nicer. Several rounds of applause are due to my wonderful new beta reader, Anais Lacquestar, for kindly volunteering. This chapter is much the better for her.  
  
RL: If you upload things in .txt, they seem to leave ellipses as ellipses. 


	6. Clarity

Cat leaned back in her rented chair, sipping her Diet Coke with satisfaction. She was uniquely positioned to enjoy the luxuries of this place. After all, Resistants hardly had time to stop for french-fries when they were in the Matrix.  
  
Still, it really wasn't safe to hack the Matrix for prolonged periods of time. Few, if any, unplugged humans had spent the night there. If they had, they certainly hadn't slept. Maybe she'd speak to Smith about that.  
  
She swallowed; it was lucky that nothing had happened yet. She was still slow to remember the dangers of the digital world, although Trinity'd insisted Cat's plugs be put to good use. She'd been into the Matrix more times in her few short months with Neo than in five years under Binary. Cat snorted. No wonder she'd been off her game. Put Neo in the Operator's chair and just see how smoothly things went.   
  
Trinity, Cat supposed, never did quite come to terms with her status as an operator. Nearly everyone with a set of plugs who joined a ship crew worked within the Matrix in some capacity or other. Cat had caused more than bit of grumbling when she took an operator's position; there were only so many, and it was tough for Zion-born fighters to join the effort in any other way. Still, she was more than a little resentful that her offer to operate had been dismissed out of hand, although she supposed Trinity had a point. Link could fill in at her old chair, but he couldn't operate within the digital world.  
  
It had been hard to regain even the shaky skills she'd been taught five years before. Binary had arranged some jaunts into the Matrix so that Cat could form a realistic idea of her crewmates' capabilities, but hadn't given her much training on the mechanics of manipulation. There would have been no point, after all. Trinity had thrown her in over her head. The One attracted Agents like flies, and Cat couldn't cope with the difficult missions while learning Matrix skills. Secretly, Cat doubted that she'd ever be any good within the digital construct, no matter how much she practiced. She just wasn't a physical person.  
  
It didn't help that her new crewmates were two of the most gifted manipulators the Matrix had ever seen, beautiful and famous people who everyone wanted a glimpse of. Still, they drew too much danger for most of the ship captains and so they were stuck with the crewless Sekh, and stuck with Cat.  
  
She sighed. It hurt to see them, looking drawn and serious as they paced the deck Binary had floated over. Trinity and Neo seemed to have been born without a sense of humor. Nothing could be farther from Binary's affectionate nicknames and practical jokes. Cat thought of her as more a sister than a captain, and the chilly relations with Trinity and Neo only made Cat ache more for her missing friends.  
  
A rap at the door startled Cat out of her introspection. She welcomed the interruption; she'd been verging on a familiar melancholy. Smith was difficult, but the effort required to keep up her dangerous game dragged her out of the grieving she'd been trapped in for months.  
  
Her jaw dropped as she opened the door. Smith was smiling. Not grimacing, not sneering. Smiling. "Hello," he said.  
  
The greeting sounded awkward; Cat was almost relieved that his voice was the same. "Friendly Smith" was flatly unnatural.  
  
"I knew you'd be a quick study," she said, covering her shock and motioning Smith to sit. "I take it this afternoon has done you some good."  
  
His face slid back into its neutral set. "I observed and recorded several hundred interactions."  
  
"It seems that you can imitate them, too. Why don't we put that to the test?"  
  
Smith sat silently as she sipped the last of her Coke. "All right," she said. "Where do you want to go?"  
  
The Agent shrugged. Cat repressed the urge to gape again; the motion had been only a little stiff, but it still seemed very out of place. It wouldn't look that way to others, she supposed, but it was odd to see human mannerisms on Smith. After all, he'd started this whole process to purge himself of the "taint" of her species.  
  
She shook her head. "Well, first things first. I have a couple of things that don't bear public discussion. Like, is there some way I can contact you if I need you?"  
  
Smith didn't say anything.   
  
Great, Cat thought. No amount of study can make the man easy to deal with. She sighed. "It's not customary for the unplugged to stay in the Matrix as long as I'm going to. I just worried that somebody I can't deal with will come along, and that will be the end of this little partnership." She was deliberately oblique. Smith had clamed up after she'd mentioned his former colleagues yesterday; maybe, she fancied, he missed his days as an enforcer for the system.  
  
Smith's forehead creased. Well, it had been silly to try to spare his feelings, anyway, Cat thought. It wasn't like he actually had them. "What I mean, Smith, is that I'm afraid I'll meet an Agent."  
  
The blankness was back. "They will be unable to find you."  
  
Cat stared. "Are you shielding me somehow?"  
  
"No."  
  
It was her turn to frown. "Well, what will keep them off me, then?"  
  
"You are not in contact with the others on your ship. There are no illicit signals available for trace."  
  
Cat sighed. "I hate to trust to that. Won't they be able to tell that someone hacked the Matrix yesterday?"  
  
Smith was still blank. "They will have traced that disturbance, but will have detected no further suspicious activity. They will not be able to pinpoint you without further incidents."  
  
Cat thought that it was very positive that Smith was talking about something that could be construed as Agency secrets. He wasn't telling her anything the Resistance didn't know, but the fact that he would talk about it at all...   
  
He WAS right, she supposed. Still, there was no harm in taking extra precautions. "Well, that's great to hear. I guess it just makes me a little nervous, though. Tell you what. Let's get cell phones on our little jaunt this afternoon. I won't use it unless I need you to keep me from getting killed."  
  
Smith sneered, no doubt amused by her weakness and worry, but didn't object.  
  
"Also..." She eyed Smith's business suit. "Can you change your clothing somehow, or do you need to shop for something to wear in the club?"  
  
"I will procure something suitable."  
  
Cat shook her head. "Nuh-uh. Your idea of suitable and mine are not likely to match up, at least not yet. Tell you what. If you seem to do OK with some low-key stuff today, tomorrow we'll sneak you in to a club. We can pretend that we work at the same office and I dragged you out for the night. If you lose the jacket and tie, that might work. It'll be a Tuesday, so it'll cause less of a stir. Still, we'd better go to a different club, you know, not the one we're going to set the trap in."  
  
Smith was silent. Cat took that for agreement. "Ok. That's enough practicality for the day. Sure you're going to leave this up to me?"  
  
Cat grinned. "Well, let this be on your head, then." If Smith wouldn't pick, she'd take him where she wanted to go. McDonald's had been calling her name for quite some time, and I she remembered her map correctly, the route to the nearest one would take them through the downtown business district. There'd be plenty of opportunities for Smith to show off his new skill.  
  
He smiled again as they left the hotel. Cat wondered if she'd always find it disconcerting.  
  
Smith must have seen her flinch; his forehead settled into its familiar crease. "Is this incorrect?"  
  
Cat shook her head. "I'm just not quite used to an expressive Smith."  
  
He didn't reply. Cat snorted. So much for expressive.  
  
They walked along in silence for a while. Smith, Cat noted, still matched her pace, and his face now registered several generic-looking expressions. He no longer shoved oncoming pedestrians out of the way, and even went so far as to apologize to a middle-aged woman who ran into him. It humanized him more than she would have expected.   
  
She was almost sorry to reach the retail district. She squashed the temptation to haul him into a store; his still-dour attitude would be perfect, the stereotypical reaction of a man dragged out on a shopping trip. That might very well be too much too soon, though. It was difficult to read Smith when he blanked out, but she'd bet anything that he wasn't pleased by her suggestion that he shed his tie. How she ever expected to talk him into club clothes...  
  
It was just as well that the golden arches broke that particular thought pattern. "You may know the right restaurants to woo your average traitor, but I still say you can't beat the cuisine of the common man. Come on."  
  
Cat grinned at Smith's rather forced-looking smile as she held the door open for him. She'd always loved this place. Of course, she'd been yanked from the Matrix when she was eleven and quite small enough to access the ball pit. "I'd like a chicken McNugetts Happy Meal, please." She grinned at the kid taking orders. "Old times' sake and all that. Come on, Smith, what'll ya have?"  
  
"I am not hungry. Thank you."  
  
Cat wrinkled her nose; his "pleasant tone" left more than a little to be desired. "Oh, come on. What's the use of slumming it if you don't eat anything? Tell you what; it's my treat." Smith remained silent. "Hmm. A number two, supersized, with a Diet Coke, please," Cat said, grinning. Turnabout was fair play, after all, and Smith had a preemption to pay for.  
  
She sent him, tray in hand, to find a table as she procured the ketchup. She was still grinning like an idiot; the place put her in a whimsical mood. The stress that had nearly pushed her over the edge last night vanished in the face of her own turf and a little sunlight. It didn't hurt that the life-or-death element of her first encounter with Smith was absent. It even seemed safe to bait him a little.  
  
"At least try a french-fry," Cat wheedled, sitting across from the glowering Agent. "You might just like them, whether they bleed or not."  
  
Smith reached forward, glaring at the fry he'd grasped. Cat laughed. "It's not going to bite you," she giggled. Smith didn't look so sure.  
  
You could practically see the gears whirring as he chewed, Cat thought. "Well?" she asked expectantly.  
  
"They are... acceptable," Smith said, dry cadence belying his bland half-smile.  
  
"Try them with ketchup," Cat recommended, turning her attention to her own meal. The McNuggetts were pure bliss after years of gloppy single cell. Even her present company seemed to enjoy them. Well, maybe not enjoy, per se, but for a woman who had named her keyboard and cell phone, Smith was anthropomorphism waiting to happen.  
  
Sometimes he seemed so very human. The hatred for Neo was exactly that, a strong emotion in something that shouldn't have any. The sneering humor he'd evinced seemed more likely to be emotive than programmed; it had no obvious usefulness, making it an unlikely design element.  
  
Cat started; Smith's stare was almost tangible. He'd eaten the whole carton of fries, she thought with some satisfaction. "See? I told you so."  
  
"The food was enjoyable."  
  
She smiled at him. "I used to eat here when I was a kid. Geez it's been what, 12 years almost, and everything still tastes just the same."  
  
Smith didn't reply directly. "There is an insufficient number of tables."  
  
Cat grinned and cleared the trays. "I can take a hint when I hear one. The cell phones, then, and perhaps a walk in the park?"  
  
She sighed. "You could answer my questions occasionally, you know."  
  
Smith raised an eyebrow at her. That, at least, looked like it belonged on him, Cat thought. "You would not adjust your actions in reference to my response," Smith drawled.  
  
Cat cocked her head at him. "If you'd rather not go for a walk, that's fine."  
  
"I did not say that."  
  
"You implied it."  
  
The Agent sneered. "I implied doubt that you require my input before taking action."  
  
Cat snorted. "If you'd ever offer any, you'd find out, wouldn't you?" She grinned. "I think you like the mystery."  
  
Smith's eyebrow moved even further up as he slowed to a stop. "If you still insist on communication devices, this shop will provide them."  
  
"I do," Cat said, brushing past Smith to peruse the models in the glass counter. She touched Smith's arm to get his attention. "I forgot... We'll need a credit card to get service. These places don't take cash."  
  
Smith wordlessly produced a card. Cat glanced at it, hoping for a first name, but it was stamped "National Security Agency." She snorted. It figures.  
  
"Why don't you take care of this? It'll be good practice."  
  
Smith walked to the counter. The clerk, a portly man with a car salesman smile, perked up. "What can I do for ya?"  
  
Smith smiled. "My colleague and are in need of cellular phones."  
  
"We've got 'em," the clerk declared, gesturing at the case. "What are you looking to use them for?"  
  
"We will need them for very small amounts of time when away from the office."  
  
"Well, we've got a pay-per-minute plan that should work for that. A flat fee of five dollars a month, and a sliding schedule for minute costs after that." The man shoved a brochure across the counter.  
  
Smith glanced at it. "That will be acceptable."  
  
"All right," said the clerk. "How about phones, then? The stripped-down ones should work if you don't plan on usin' 'em much." He pointed to a rather blocky, bulky black phone. "Cheap and adequate. Unless the lady would like something with a little more style?"  
  
Cat smiled. "That one will be fine, sir."  
  
"Oh, don't sir me," the man gushed. "Makes me feel old." He glanced at Smith, who was standing stiffly in front of the counter, frowning at the display. "What's a nice girl like you doing with a stiff like that?"  
  
"Oh, we're partners," Cat said airily. "I guess it's a good-cop, bad-cop thing."  
  
"Ooooh, government types. I'd better watch what I say," the man joked.  
  
Smith frowned at Cat, then turned on the salesman. "That is all we require."  
  
The clerk rolled his eyes at Cat, who threw him a conspiratorial smile. "The total comes to $149.75, with activation fees and all."  
  
Smith swiped his card without comment as the clerk busied himself with the phones. "Could you program the other's number into them?" Cat asked.  
  
"Sure thing." The clerk looked at her speculatively. "You don't look like cops. Who are you with?"  
  
Cat's eyes darted to Smith. "He's mad at me for blowing our cover," she muttered. "I'm not much with this detective-in-disguise thing yet."  
  
Smith held out his hand for the phones. "Thank you," he said flatly.   
  
"Hit one, then star, and it'll dial the other," the clerk said a bit sulkily. He gave Cat a sympathetic look as Smith steered her out the door. At least he isn't dragging me this time, she thought.  
  
"Well, friendly you're not but at least you're passable now. All we need is to get you inside, anyway, and you won't have to talk to anybody but me if we work it right." Smith remained silent. "That only works if you actually talk to me, you know."  
  
"This conversation has long since ceased to be productive."  
  
"Ouch! Well, then, color me bored with your company, too." Smith , predictably enough, didn't respond. Cat sighed. "Look at this as your chance to profile a Resistant. I was a reasonably typical one before Neo came along and screwed with my ship."  
  
"I am no longer concerned with the Resistance."  
  
Cat searched his eyes, finding the same careful neutrality they usually held. "Well, what do you do with all of your time these days? I mean, Neo isn't in the Matrix all the time."  
  
Was she imagining it, or did Smith's posture stiffen? "I do not spend all of my time in pursuit of Mr. Anderson."  
  
"I'm glad to hear that. He's hardly worth the trouble." Her tone held real malice. If Trinity underestimated her, Neo was worse. He seemed oblivious to Cat's existence, passably polite if she came to his attention. He certainly didn't trouble himself on her account, mumbling vagaries if Cat ever inquired after the nature of a mission. She resented that more than anything else; it only confirmed her status as an outsider that he'd clearly rather be rid of.  
  
"Do you like ice cream?" Cat queried, spying a vendor on the outskirts of the park. "Never mind. I'm sure you'll like it if you give it a try."  
  
She purchased two pops shaped like Snoopy and handed one to Smith. She felt a little guilty as she picked a path at random. There was no real reason for this jaunt. Smith was already passable as a human being, and one trip to a nightclub ought to give him enough input to act at that as well. Smith was certain to realize that soon, and she'd be unable to find the information she'd been sent to collect.  
  
"I was able to identify patterns in your organization's choice of targets." Smith's voice startled Cat out of her own thoughts. "I was not, however, able to determine why those particular characteristics were chosen."  
  
Cat grinned. Smith was not so indifferent to the Resistance as he pretended. Maybe old habits die hard. "I'm surprised you didn't figure that out. All of the things we look for - the searches, the time spent on the computer - denote someone who has already begun to suspect that something's not quite right with the world."  
  
Smith frowned. "That is necessary?"  
  
Maybe it wasn't so wise to tell him all this... Still, Smith was technically associated with the Mainframe anymore, and even if he somehow managed to pass the information along they already knew the what. What harm could be done if they had the why as well?  
  
"Well, imagine the nasty shock that comes with waking up in a big pink pod, then being told you'd hallucinated everything you ever knew. It's not easy to accept. For most people, it's flat-out impossible. If you thought there was something off anyway, it's easier to accept the explanation."  
  
Smith frowned. "What prompts this conviction that the world is 'off,' as you say?"  
  
Cat shrugged. "It's different for most of us. Sometimes, a particularly clever hacker starts noticing cracks in the system that can't be explained very well. Sometimes, little glitches in the Matrix tip somebody off. And sometimes, it's you guys," said Cat. "That's how it happened to me. I got curious when one of the neighbors disappeared. I always played with her kid sister, until one night there was a shootout on our street and she was gone without a trace. They told us it was terrorists, and her sister was frantic enough that I went hunting on my own. The more I found, the less seemed to add up. It didn't take long for the 'terrorists' to come for me after that. I gave them quite an earful. I probably wouldn't have gone if the neighbor kid hadn't been with them."  
  
Smith frowned at a couple holding hands on a park bench. "Imperfections in the Matrix prompt some humans to resist the program."  
  
"That's quite correct. I'm still amazed that you didn't notice that when concocting your patterns."  
  
"There was no need for such analysis. The signifiers could be pinpointed and potential targets identified. It was not necessary to determine why particular targets were chosen."  
  
Cat grinned at him. "You lot obviously didn't watch enough tv. Every police detective on the silver screen catches the killer by getting inside his head."  
  
"There are few places I would be more anxious to avoid."  
  
Cat snorted and kicked rock in front of her. "I guarantee we have more fun." She preferred to think that Smith's silence meant that he had no comeback for that one.  
  
She squinted at the sky. "It'll be getting dark soon, so we'd better head back. There's no sense chancing the city in at night."  
  
Cat chose the path they'd come down. She frowned. Something just didn't add up. "If you knew exactly what we were looking for, how did we ever free any minds at all? What stopped you from stopping us?"  
  
Smith didn't answer. Cat heaved a sigh. It figured that nothing about this would be so easy. If he wouldn't even discuss secrets that he no longer had a reason to keep, how could she ever pry the very personal information Neo sought from him?  
  
Smith frowned as they again passed the couple on the park bench. "What does that gesture signify?" he asked, pointing.  
  
The man on the bench looked at Smith oddly. Without thinking about it, Cat smacked his hand. "You're drawing..."  
  
Smith whirled, looked at her flush on. Cat had always thought that "chilling the blood" was a cliche. Not so. Her muscles locked as the cold rush crept through her.  
  
It was difficult to work her mouth. "I'm s-sorry. I didn't think," she choked.  
  
"That much is obvious." Cat heard her heart thundering as Smith glared at her. The relief when he turned his gaze away was physical.  
  
"I noticed it in several pairs of humans today, most commonly a combination of male and female. It occurred in a small but statistically significant number of groups," Smith continued, as though nothing had happened.  
  
Cat took a deep breath. It was too easy to forget who - no, what - she was dealing with. She'd allowed herself to be lulled by their relatively comfortable conversation. It wouldn't happen again.  
  
Her legs felt steady again; she started forward, looking straight ahead as she spoke. She couldn't quite face him yet - not after that look. Those eyes had been dispassionate death. "It signifies romantic involvement." Cat was relieved to hear a steady voice. "When people are in love and want to declare it publicly, they hold hands so that everyone can see that they're attached."  
  
Smith frowned. "The gesture was not restricted to male-female pairings."  
  
"Neither are romantic relationships." She bit words off, not yet comfortable with conversing.  
  
Thankfully, Smith seemed to be out of questions for the time being. The walk back to the hotel was a prolonged nervous silence as Cat tried to avoid the realization of just what she'd gotten herself into. He could have killed her right then without any trouble. Lord knows she wouldn't be able to fight him off. It was sheer luck that her unconscious misstep hadn't betrayed anything important. One little slip like that regarding her real purpose here, and she'd be dead before she could blink.  
  
The stiff silence continued as Smith again followed Cat into the elevator. She gathered her nerves, forcing the knot in the pit of her stomach to untangle. "There's no sense meeting until late tomorrow. Say seven?"  
  
If Smith replied, it was lost in her rush to exit the elevator. The phone in her pocket as she fumbled for the room key reminded her that there were things here she feared more than Smith. "Let me test this real quick," she muttered, hitting the keys the salesman had described. A jarring rendition of Fur Elise emanated from Smith's pocket.  
  
"All right," she murmured, still avoiding his face. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow." She was in her room well before Smith disappeared into the elevator.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
A/N: Smithfan: You made my whole day. :D I promise that the next chapter will be a bit more eventful. It should come along very soon. (Maybe even tomorrow!) 


	7. Ambiguity

It really was jarring to be shaken awake. Cat grumbled, prying at the fingers on her shoulder. "Ow, Smith. That hurts."  
  
The grip only grew tighter as Cat rubbed her eyes. "Lemme go. And tell me what's so urgent it couldn't wait until a decent hour." She focused her sleepy eyes on the hand that was still shaking her. She squinted. "Your suit looks darker."  
  
Her eyes traveled along the arm to its owner. The face didn't belong to Smith, although it was certainly reminiscent of it. The hand that didn't have hold of her was pressed to an ear. She was staring at an Agent.  
  
Her stomach turned to ice. There would be no getting out of this one. Unless...  
  
Her eyes darted to the bedside table. Where had she put the phone? There it was, wedged between the table and the bed.  
  
She was jerked upright without warning. The Agent's head turned to focus on her. Cat forced herself to smile. "I don't believe we've met."  
  
"My name is Agent Johnson." Cat blinked. His speech was stilted, but not at all like Smith's. It was... colder, flatter. It sounded like a machine.  
  
"Umm... What can I do for you, Agent?" Maybe if she were cooperative, they wouldn't recognize her as a Resistant.  
  
"You are fraternizing with a target of our investigations. A Smith."  
  
Cat smiled. "Yes, sir. I've been spending a lot of time with Smith lately." She looked down at herself with an exaggerated movement of the head. "I'd be happy to answer your questions, but would it be all right if I threw a robe on? I'd feel much more comfortable. They're just in that closet there."  
  
The hand on her shoulder unclenched, and Cat rubbed at the hurt. She put her hand on the spot where she'd seen the phone as she kicked the blankets off, and pressed what she hoped was the one and star while she swung her legs around. The Agent's hand rose again as she stood. Shit, Cat thought. He can tell that I've placed a call.  
  
There was no way she could get away if she ran. She'd be better off playing it cool, or so she hoped. She heard the Agent rise as she pulled the closet open and grabbed a terrycloth robe. She turned to face him as she pulled it on.  
  
The Agent wore a formidable scowl. Cat swallowed and was grateful for the sunglasses; she knew just what look she'd find in those eyes.  
  
"Please, have a seat." She could hear the tremble in her own voice as she moved slowly toward the table. Johnson made no move to stop her.  
  
He was silent. Cat's heartbeat filled her ears as the head turned toward her again. It was like being hunted by something that knew exactly where you were but wanted to toy with you before making its kill.  
  
Thoughts like that aren't going to get you anywhere, she told herself. "Ummm... So, what brings you here to question me in the middle of the night?"  
  
"You will be removed to agency headquarters."  
  
Cat turned wide eyes on Johnson. The shock in them was very genuine; once they got her to headquarters, she was finished for sure. No one left that place alive. "What's happening?"  
  
"You are not safe. Smith is known to be dangerous. It is for your protection."  
  
Smith might come, Cat thought. She had to buy time. "Well, I can't hardly go anywhere without my clothes on. Do we have time for me to change?"  
  
The hand rose to the ear. "Be quick."  
  
Cat fumbled with the bureau drawers. Why wasn't she dead? The Agent must not associate her with the Resistance. Why? She might not have spent much time in the Matrix, but she'd run into them a few times in the not-so-distant past.  
  
She walked to the bathroom, aware of the Agent's eyes on her as she closed the door. It had to be Smith. He'd been responsible for a few deaths even after the incident with Neo. Johnson must have assumed that she was a coppertop who Smith was using for some reason. Maybe, a voice in the back of her mind whispered, he knows just what you're supposed to be. A traitor. A traitor who they can use just as much as Smith can.  
  
That might just keep her alive, she thought as she coiled her hair into a sloppy bun. If she could convince Smith she was on his side, maybe the Agents could be persuaded also - if they didn't shoot first and ask questions later.  
  
Johnson coughed obtrusively outside the door. She wouldn't be able to stall much longer. Smith probably wasn't coming anyway. After all, she hadn't spoken into the phone. Maybe Smith had thought her call was a mistake. Maybe he had been away from the phone, or otherwise unreachable.  
  
The phone... Johnson knew about the call she'd made. Why was he allowing her to dawdle? Unless... Unless the Agents were hunting Smith. She felt sick to her stomach as she remembered his ringing phone, the phone she'd insisted on buying and testing...  
  
She straightened herself as Johnson coughed again. Maybe, if she played her cards right, she could just manage to stay alive, Smith or no Smith. They hadn't hurt her thus far.  
  
She opened the door and Johnson latched on to her shoulder again. "You're hurting me," she whispered, unable to stop the tears from squeezing out.  
  
Johnson literally dragged her out of the room. Her shoulder throbbed as she tripped along, trying to keep up so that the pressure on the spot was reduced. If he squeezed any harder, Cat was sure he'd break bone.  
  
The Agent frowned as the elevator chimed to signal its arrival before he'd touched the button. The hand rose toward his ear again as the door opened. Smith stepped out, his lip curled in his most scornful expression.  
  
Johnson threw Cat away from him before she really had time to process that. She impacted the wall with enough force to make a dent.   
  
She wasn't sure how long she lay there; perhaps she'd passed out for a minute or two. Voices that formed sounds but not words intruded into the haze. She raised her head and found her vision had no better focus. She shook her head to clear it; nausea rushed over her instead. She fell back against the wall, turning her head and vomiting weakly.  
  
She gathered her strength and crawled away from the spot when she'd finished. The voices stopped; she swiveled towards the elevator and saw Smith adjusting his tie as the other Agent straightened his jacket. They lunged forward without warning, bodies blurring as they dodged and punched too quickly for her eyes to follow.  
  
Cat closed her eyes again; the fast movements made her dizzy enough that she felt the bile rise in her throat. When she opened them again, the Agents had pulled apart. Neither looked any worse for the wear.  
  
"You are no longer necessary," Johnson sneered. "You have been replaced. Your operatives have long since reported for deletion."  
  
Smith's lip curled. "It is unwise to gloat."  
  
Johnson lunged forward without replying. Cat was fascinated by his pseudo kung-fu moves, a contrast to Smith's straightforward right hooks. Perhaps he'd been designed specifically to combat Neo.  
  
Although she watched closely, Cat never saw either Agent land a blow. They were blindingly fast, never in one place long enough to take a hit.   
  
She crawled forward experimentally. Her head spun, but it was bearable now. She closed her eyes for a moment and opened them onto the same draw battle. Maybe...  
  
She moved forward at a painfully slow pace, but the programs were too focused to notice her. She paused ten feet behind Johnson. She forced her breath to quiet and readied herself. Five feet now, three... She latched herself onto Johnson's right foot. He shook his leg to rid himself of her, and in the split second's distraction Smith landed a punch with enough force to send both Cat and Johnson flying. She hit the wall again, this time with Johnson smashing her from the other side.  
  
Her head missed the brunt of the impact this time. She tried to shove Johnson off her, but he felt... liquid under her hands. She pushed again, and this time the man slid off her. She blinked; Johnson was gone, replaced by a man she recognized as the desk clerk.  
  
She reached up to touch her head and winced. Her hand came back covered with blood.  
  
Something put pressure on the shoulder Johnson had crunched. She looked up into Smith's sunglasses. "I thought you'd gotten rid of those," she muttered. He jerked her to her feet and dragged her into her room.  
  
Smith kicked the door shut and shook her hard. Cat's stomach heaved, and what little was left in it came up onto his polished shoes. "You are in contact with Anderson."  
  
"No, no," she mumbled. It was hard to focus on speaking. Her tongue seemed to have developed a mind of its own, and she needed all of her concentration to say even simple things.  
  
She cried out as Smith grabbed her head, supporting her sagging body with a death grip on her injured skull. Her eyes rolled back in her head as he squeezed, one hand pressing the cut she'd discovered a few moments before.  
  
He let go and she slumped to the ground, emitting jagged little whimpers. She stared dully as Smith stuffed her belongings into one of her shopping bags and thrust it at her. She made no move to take it. Smith snarled and hauled her to her feet again. "Johnson will return if he can. It is imperative that we leave now."  
  
Cat tried to keep her balance, but even Smith's grip couldn't keep her upright. She stumbled forward and he jerked her up again, dragging her back into the hall. The man who had been Johnson was still lying there; Cat's feet hit him as Smith dragged her past. "Hurts," she complained.  
  
He loosened his grip and let her slide onto the wall as they waited for the elevator. Cat blinked, fighting the haze that threatened to overwhelm her senses again. The door opened in front of her and she hugged one side of it, pulling herself into the elevator. Smith followed.  
  
Her head had cleared a little, enough that she realized that Smith dragging her through the hotel lobby in the state she was in would attract attention whether Johnson was back or not. Her stomach lurched along with the elevator as it slowed to a stop.  
  
"No," she whispered as Smith gripped her shoulder again. She pushed at his hand.  
  
Smith blinked at her, but his arm slid to her waist. His grip was still tight enough to be painful as she tottered forward.   
  
A concerned-looking woman intercepted them just as they reached the doors. "What happened?"  
  
Smith glared at her. The cold air from the door hit Cat, clearing things a little although her jaw still didn't work well. "'Sawright," she muttered. "Attack on the fifth floor. Call police."  
  
The woman looked flustered and flipped her cell phone open, but didn't trouble them further. Cat wondered dimly why she hadn't turned into an Agent on the spot.  
  
Smith propped her against the outside wall and stalked off. The cold air helped Cat recover herself a little. Her hand fumbled over her head. The big cut was there, yes, and several spots were tender enough to make her wince. She almost screamed when she touched her nose. It must be broken, then.  
  
A nondescript black car pulled into view. Cat gritted her teeth and started jogging in the opposite direction. Maybe if she dodged into the alley...  
  
A hand caught the same abused shoulder and she kicked behind her sharply. The grip didn't waver. She started to scream; another hand crept around to cover her mouth. Her whole body stiffened as it brushed her nose. She struggled for a moment more, then went limp. This fight was over.  
  
The hands dropped away so suddenly that Cat barely managed to stay upright. "Are you mobile?"  
  
She exhaled, dizzy with relief. "Smith."  
  
She turned to face him. He stood motionless; Cat realized that he was waiting for a response. "No thanks to you."  
  
She tottered a few steps forward, flinching away from Smith as he moved toward her. "Don't touch me," she whispered.  
  
"It is necessary to vacate this area as quickly as possible. You are unable to move well, and Johnson may return."  
  
"Don't touch me," she repeated, lumbering forward.   
  
Smith's forehead puckered. Cat cut him off before he could begin; at least her mouth was obeying her now. "I don't know what the hell you were doing to me up there, but it hurt. It wasn't too comfortable to get dragged down the hall by my shoulder, either. And take off those stupid sunglasses. It's dark outside."  
  
Smith's forehead creased further as he stepped toward her. "Be quiet."  
  
Cat tried to shy away again, but he was faster. He scooped her up, and she started kicking and wriggling. "Put me down!" she hissed.  
  
His grip tightened. Cat sucked in a surprised breath. It hurt much more this way. She relaxed, and so did the grip.  
  
He'd left the car doors open and dumped Cat in the passenger seat. She couldn't stop the tears from clouding her vision; even the slight jarring sent agony from her nose outward.  
  
The door clicked behind Smith. "Where are we going?" Cat asked. Smith didn't answer. "Wherever it is, I think we need to stop at the doctor's first."  
  
"That would be ill-advised."  
  
"I'm pretty badly beat up." Cat winced and leaned back into her chair.  
  
"You are able to walk."  
  
"How do you see the road at night in those damned glasses? And I think I might have a concussion."  
  
"That is unlikely." Smith pressed his lips together, apparently appraising her condition. Cat felt exposed under his slow stare. "You are speaking coherently, by your standards." Cat frowned, then winced as the expression moved her tender nose.   
  
"My nose..."  
  
Smith stared straight ahead, his face in its neutral set. "You are mobile. You have no injuries that threaten your life."  
  
Cat sighed. "It just... hurts," she mumbled, realizing how petulant she sounded as the words left her. "And it's conspicuous."  
  
"It would be no less so with a plaster."  
  
She shook her head. The Agent was right. Her injuries wouldn't kill her, but there was no such guarantee if Johnson came back.  
  
She sat in silence for a few moments. Smith had some explaining to do, but he wasn't sure exactly what she wanted him to explain. She started with the obvious. "Back there... You took me by the head. It hurt like hell, I might add. Why?"  
  
Smith's head stayed rigid, facing the road.  
  
She sighed. "You don't trust me," she whispered. "Well, maybe you shouldn't. You know those phones I made us get?" She pressed a hand to her mouth. "You don't still have it?"  
  
Smith reached into a pocket and handed the phone to her. She rolled the car window down and chucked it out. It smashed satisfyingly.  
  
She took a deep breath. "They came because they traced the phones. They knew that I called you. They must have picked up the signal when I tested them this afternoon."  
  
Smith still didn't comment. "That leaves me a few questions," she said, sighing. "How did they know the phone was yours? Why are they hunting you? If you thought I was contacting Neo behind your back, why did you come for me in the first place?"  
  
Smith's mouth tightened. Cat was afraid he wouldn't answer, but after a few seconds he began to speak. "I have... inconvenienced the mainframe during my existence as an exile. Agent Johnson has been looking for me for some time now."  
  
Cat knew better than to ask just what those inconveniences had been. "So, how did they know to track you through the phone? And why did they come for me instead of you?"  
  
"I did not place or receive any calls from a location outside your hotel. They had no signals to trace."  
  
"Until I called you... They could have traced that."  
  
"The residence I have been using has undoubtedly been destroyed." Cat was shocked at his indifference. "My replicas were becoming inconvenient. I will no longer need to dispose of them."  
  
Cat swallowed. The cold feeling was back; Smith was just as deadly as Johnson. She would have to remember not to become inconvenient.  
  
"Which reminds me," she said aloud. "You came for me even though you obviously thought I had betrayed you."  
  
"I could not allow Johnson to interrogate you. I intended to destroy you."  
  
Cat swallowed. "But you didn't."  
  
"Obviously." The corner of Smith's mouth twitched upward.  
  
She sighed. "Don't be difficult."  
  
"I am cautious, Ms. Thompson. Agent Johnson was plainly seeking me through you, when Mr. Anderson is by far the more important target."  
  
"But you had to check."  
  
"I assumed that you were in contact with your ship, and thus Mr. Anderson. He may not have been located inside the Matrix."  
  
"I'm glad you ask questions first, and shoot later," she muttered; Smith frowned at her, but she thought she could see his lips twitching. "That still doesn't explain how he knew about the phones."  
  
Smith turned his head, glaring from behind the glasses. Cat crossed her arms, suppressing the wince. "Well?" she asked.  
  
She heard him say something, but it was at a level far below her range of hearing. "What is it?" she asked.  
  
"I made an error," he said, then looked at her as though daring her to comment. "I have not had cause for the use of credit in a long time."  
  
Cat blinked. "Oh! They traced the phones through the credit card." She grinned. "Well, we could have run it up a little more if we'd thought about it, then."  
  
Smith turned back to the road. "That is, of course, still an option."  
  
Cat giggled, imaging a large bill from Victoria's Secret landing on the desktops of the mysterious agency. "That's two in as many days, Smith. I might just convince myself that you have a sense of humor."  
  
Smith was silent for a while, but it was a comfortable silence. Cat was so pleased to be alive, and still trusted, that she forgave the Agent for prodding at her head wound. She snorted to herself. It wasn't like she had much choice.  
  
"Hey, Smith?"  
  
He didn't respond, but she was getting used to that. He didn't deign to reply to just anything. "Something occurred to me... If your residence was just destroyed, where are we going?"  
  
"I told you that I am cautious," he said. "I purchased two houses to prepare for just such an eventuality."  
  
"Where'd the money come from?"  
  
Smith didn't blink at what should have been considered a very rude question. "I manipulated some code before my credentials could be revoked."  
  
"Same story with this car?"  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"It's pretty stodgy, if you could make anything you wanted."  
  
"I wished to be inconspicuous," Smith said, rounding a corner into a residential neighborhood. He stopped the car in front of a small house.   
  
Cat squinted at it, but couldn't make much out in the dark. "It looks like one of those cheap pre-fabs. It doesn't seem like you at all."  
  
"That is the idea, Ms. Thompson."  
  
Cat grinned. "Well, I'm sure it's lovely on the inside."  
  
Smith got out of the car and Cat followed his lead. He removed her shopping bag from the trunk and strode for the door before she could offer to take it. "Such a gentleman," she joked as he opened the door.  
  
She flicked the lights on and looked onto a living room done up in horrible floral wallpaper. A lingering odor of potpourri hung over the frilly furniture. "Love what you've done with the place."  
  
"The furniture was left by the previous occupant." Smith moved farther into the house and she followed, suppressing a snort as she climbed the pink-carpeted stairs. He opened a door and set her bag inside it. "You may use this room."  
  
She cocked her head at him. "Do you sleep?"  
  
"I can."  
  
"Is it necessary?"  
  
Smith frowned. "I find it occasionally useful."  
  
Cat grinned. "I know what you mean. It helps me think through things, sometimes."  
  
Smith's face went blank, and he didn't answer. Cat wondered if she'd hit the nail on the head. "Anyway," she said, "I'd better go clean myself up. I must look a fright."  
  
Smith frowned. "Your injuries need tending."  
  
"I thought we discussed that, and you said no dice."  
  
"I stated that you could not go to a doctor. You may require treatment."  
  
"And who's going to give it to me? You?" She looked at him warily. "Oh, no."  
  
Smith walked off without a word; Cat wondered if she had offended him. Still, the thought of letting the Agent touch her hurts when he was sure to be anything but gentle didn't appeal.  
  
She wandered down the hall, opening door as she came to them, and finally found a bathroom. She was shocked at her own reflection. Dried blood matted the hair on the right side of her head, and several angry red spots that would become bruises dotted her face. Worst of all was the nose, sticking up at a jaunty angle. She swallowed. Hopefully that would be gone when she got out of the Matrix.  
  
She gritted her teeth as she pulled her pajama top off. The motion hurt, and in a moment she saw why. Her shoulder was starting to turn purple already; the bruise would be large enough to cover the whole thing. She steeled herself and pulled the shorts off as well, revealing a distinctly swelled ankle and a few minor cuts.  
  
The shower was painful, to say the least, but the last thing she wanted to contend with was an infection. She padded down the hall and rummaged through her shopping bag. She threw a t-shirt over her head and replaced the bloody pajama pants; she hadn't thought to buy more than one pair. The bed had the same heavy odor as the living room, but she was too tired to care.  
  
She felt as though she had just fallen asleep when she was again shaken awake. "Jesus, Smith," she shouted. "You scared me half to death."  
  
Still-wet hair slapped her shoulders. "You might not need sleep, but I do," she barked.  
  
Smith focused on her face, then uncoiled. Cat's stomach lurched as she heard a crack. He'd wrenched her broken nose.  
  
She jumped out of bed and tried to back toward the door. "Look, I've been telling you everything I know. Just ask."  
  
"Examine at it in the mirror to ensure that it set properly."   
  
She stared at him. "You just set my nose?"  
  
Smith frowned. "This place has no materials for a cast. It may remain crooked."  
  
Cat felt more than a little guilty for assuming that he was torturing her - until she remembered the shaking she'd been subjected to earlier. She stomped down the hall, working up the nerve to look in the mirror again. Her nose was far from its usual color, but at least it was pointed in more or less the right direction now.  
  
"Thank you," she murmured, not looking at him as she re-entered the bedroom. "Now, can I go back to sleep?"  
  
Smith held up her pillow, now liberally smeared with something red. Her stomach heaved again. That was her own blood. "I will examine your head first."  
  
"Why are you doing this? You said yourself they weren't life-threatening. And how do you know what you're doing, anyway?"  
  
"This house has internet access."  
  
Cat sighed. "What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
"It enabled me to access information regarding your condition."  
  
"And you can put it into practice, just like that?" She sighed. "Of course you can. How silly of me. The medical profession, in twenty minutes or less."  
  
Smith's mouth tightened. "All right, Dr. Smith," Cat sighed. "What's the prognosis?"  
  
"You are in need of stitches."  
  
Cat blanched at he pulled a needle from somewhere. "Can't you make it numb first or something?"  
  
"This house did not come equipped for anesthesiology."  
  
"It has teeth," she muttered. "Since when do you care if I'm bleeding from the head?"  
  
Smith frowned at her as he threaded the needle. "The other denizens of this street need to be convinced that our presence is normal. Anything else will have... consequences."  
  
"And let me guess. My job is to reassure them." Cat touched her nose gingerly. "How great. I'm sure they'll feel just peachy about someone who looks like a domestic abuse victim and her untouched male companion."  
  
She reached for Smith's face. He stopped her progress with the hand that didn't have the needle, but she snatched his glasses with the other. "I will not allow you to poke at my head with your vision impaired."  
  
Smith's eyes narrowed as he scrutinzed the cut. Cat sighed. "It'll be too hard for you to aim straight like that. Here," she said, scooting to the floor. "Now, tell me how you managed to hide yourself last time, without yours truly."  
  
"The last residence was more ideally situated," Smith said, sliding behind her so he could pin her head with his knees. "I did not have to contend with neighbors."  
  
"Just what was the master plan when you bought this house, then?" Cat shut up as one of Smith's hands pressed against her left temple, driving whatever crack she'd been about to make out of her head. The hand was startlingly real, almost unnecessarily so. Odd, she thought, how the programmer had thought to include little rough patches at the pads of the fingers.  
  
She clenched her teeth as Smith began to sew the cut shut. That pain brought a startling fact to her attention; nothing else hurt. Sure, her bruises and break still ached in the background, but Smith's knees and hand were firm without crushing.  
  
Most of her physical contact with Smith had resulted in at least a bruise. Hell, he'd half-killed her earlier that evening, and could easily finish the job now if he wanted. The fact he was fixing her instead... Well, that bore thought.  
  
Oh, don't get all soupy, she chided herself. He needs you to pacify the neighbors, and you can't do that with a gash the size of Cincinnati on your head.  
  
His knees relaxed, releasing her. "If you're quite finished?" she asked, still sitting. She was oddly reluctant to get up.  
  
Smith slid out from behind her. "You have sustained several other minor injuries."  
  
She groaned. "Smith, I need to sleep!"  
  
He stood up. Cat didn't like the feel of him looming over her and stumbled to her feet. "Well, goodnight then," she said, thinking to usher him out the door.  
  
"The bathtub is filled with ice."  
  
"Out of the question." She sighed. "Look, Smith, I'm tired. I won't be up to much if I don't get some sleep. How do you think the neighbors would like me exhausted AND bruise-covered?"  
  
"You will be too stiff to move."  
  
"I'll take my chances." Cat walked over to the door and held it open pointedly. "Good night, Agent."  
  
Smith, she was surprised to note, walked out without further argument. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.  
  
~~~  
  
*.*: Good things come to those who wait. :P  
  
Agent Johnson: Double-extra thank you for the suggestion. This one's for you. :D  
  
Karina of Darkness: I do thank you for the free advertising!  
  
Smithfan: Well, the rating increased... I envision making good on the second category in the moderately near future. :P 


	8. Domestic bliss

Smith sat motionless on the living room couch. He'd considered the evening's events for hours, and the conclusion was inescapable. The Mainframe was in error.   
  
Its logic in the decision to delete him had been clear. Thomas Anderson had somehow corrupted his program. Deletion was the obvious solution. His operatives, however, had not been exposed to the contaminant. They should have been overhauled, perhaps, or upgraded. Deletion was an unmitigated waste.   
  
His lip curled into a snarl as he thought of the supposed upgrades that had replaced his team. Their code was less efficient, their team less effective. Power loss was exponentially greater than it had ever been. Agent Johnson had a lamentable tendency to gloat before executing his enforcement directives; Smith's operative inside Zion reported that it had resulted in more than one escape.   
  
  
  
These were upgrades in name only, and yet the Mainframe persisted in its attempts to eradicate Smith. It indicated nothing less than faulty logic that Brown and Jones had also been deleted. Either the Mainframe deemed it necessary to delete all code related to his own, a decision of questionable efficiency at best, or it had decided that he was a priori faulty. Smith sneered. The enforcement disaster the system was experiencing under Agent Johnson was more than sufficient to refute that.   
  
The prospect of a Mainframe with imperfect logic was troublesome. If it persisted in its errors regarding his code, even a successful purge of Anderson's influence and eradication of the Resistance would not restore him to sanction. The thought of remaining in this vile system indefinitely - and as an exile, no less - was intolerable.   
  
The snarl returned as muffled thumps emanated from upstairs. The Mainframe's many errors forced him to operate alongside one of the creatures he had been created to exterminate. Thompson's frailties had already forced him to accept inconvenience and behavioral aberration; nothing less could be expected from continued contact.  
  
Smith turned his attention from her, allowing the familiar rage at Anderson to surface. His elimination, and the purification of Smith's own code, would more than justify the irritations of the present.  
  
~~~~~~~   
  
Cat woke up and immediately wished she hadn't. It had been so easy to doze off after the exhausting events of last night, but now that everything ached it seemed like a less than stellar idea.  
  
She began to roll out of bed, but her knees refused to stiffen as they were supposed to. She hit the ground with a jarring thump. Every bump or bruise she'd accumulated throbbed in protest. She gritted her teeth and grabbed for the bedframe, intending to pull herself up. She couldn't quite bite back the yelp; her shoulders hurt, too, and her elbows were swollen and difficult to move. She inched her way upright, then tottered forward. Only a hard landing against a bedpost prevented her from falling again. Cat winced; that would leave a brand new bruise.  
  
She eyed the wall; thank heaven for little old ladies and their tendency toward small houses, she thought. It was only a couple of feet from the end on the bed. She clenched her jaw and let herself fall forward. The impact hurt less than she'd expected; it was only a minute or two before she managed to drag her feet up to the wall as well. She leaned against it and scooted forward, propping herself up as the stiffness in her joints receded a little. By the time she reached the bathroom, she was able to stand.  
  
After nearly an hour of morning ablutions, Cat realized that she was avoiding both the mirror and Smith. Either one was likely to bring her to tears again. The combination of the two... Well, it was hard enough to spend time with the programmed-to-be-perfect Agent without looking like a bad Picasso print.  
  
Oh, stop sniveling, she berated herself. Putting this off will not make it more pleasant.  
  
She limped to the top of the stairwell, catching her lip in her teeth as she looked down it. This was not going to be fun.  
  
She latched onto the hand rail and bent her knee enough to step down. She sighed. Of course, Smith would choose this moment to come stand at the bottom of the stairs and smirk at me, she thought. She bit her lip harder and forced herself down a few more steps. "Go ahead," she growled. "Make your snarky comment. I can tell you're just dying to do it."  
  
Smith's smirk only got broader. Mumbling curses, Cat managed the rest of the stairs and stumbled past him into the living room without sparing him a look. She chose a chair that was reasonably isolated from other furniture; one of Smith's bruising grips wasn't high on her list this morning.  
  
She glared at him as he sat on the couch. "Get it over with," she said. "Make your little remark about the frailty of my stupid kind, or whatever, and we can get on with it."  
  
She eyed him as his face slid toward its neutral, not quite extinguishing the traces of mirth in his eyes. Great, she thought. Sadism is well within his emotional range.  
  
"I'm sorry," she snapped. "Did I ruin your comedic timing?"  
  
His eyes narrowed. Cat made a conscious effort to restrain herself; there was no point in making him too mad. "Let's get down to business. I'm going to need crutches, I think. And food, too. You're going to have to go get them for me, because I'm in no state to do so."  
  
Smith remained silent. Cat curbed the impulse to shake her head; it would hurt too much. "I came up with something, though. We can tell the neighbors that I got in a traffic accident in the moving van, which explains me and the fact that we have no belongings." She sighed. "Here's the hard part. We have to pretend we're married. There's really no other reason two people our ages would be living in the same house. I mean, I'm too old to be your niece or anything, and..."  
  
"That will be acceptable."  
  
Cat blinked. That was it? "Or, er, all right," she said, disconcerted. "Details, then. We're going to have to cook something up about where we came from, and that sort of thing. You'll have to have a first name... Unless... do you have one already?"  
  
Smith raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Er, do you want to pick one out?"  
  
The eyebrow crept higher. "I kind of thought not," Cat said. "How about Alan? It's sort of like Agent..."  
  
She froze as the doorbell rang. "Go get that, will you?"  
  
"Is it necessary?"  
  
"They can see us from outside, Smith. Open the door."  
  
Cat eyed the woman standing on the porch. She looked like an ad for Suburbia, right down to the perfectly coifed hair and the tennis sweater.  
  
"Hello." Cat ignored the pain her smile caused. "Won't you come in?"  
  
The woman smiled uncertainly. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"  
  
"Not at all," Cat said, hoping her voice was cheery. "I haven't seen anyone but Alan and doctors for three days. I'd love some company."   
  
The woman started as Smith strode behind her to the couch. She glanced around, then perched on the extreme opposite end. "I always like to come by and meet newcomers to the neighborhood," she said in a brittle voice, jabbing a finger at the dish she sat next to her. "I brought some coffeecake..."  
  
"That's very sweet of you," Cat said, trying to believe it. "Look, I'm sorry if you're feeling uncomfortable. I know I look frightful. Some drunk driver ploughed into the U-Haul and rolled me over, and I just got released from the hospital last night."  
  
The woman's face shifted from uncertain to sympathetic. "Oh, how awful!" She patted a stray hair back into place. "And I've forgotten all my manners. I'm Cyndi, Cyndi Morgin from down the street."  
  
Cat shot a glance at Smith; his silence was in danger of becoming odd. Thankfully, he took the hint.  
  
"I am Alan Smith." He offered his hand gravely. Cyndi hesitated, but shook it. "This is my... wife," his lip twitched and Cat repressed the urge to glare, "Catherine."  
  
"I don't know why he persists in introducing me like that. I won't answer to anything but Cat."  
  
"But Catherine's such a lovely name!" squeaked Cynthia. Smith smirked.  
  
Cat tried to exorcise the poison from the smile she gave Smith. "Alan was just going to pick up some crutches for me, but I'd be delighted if you could stay for a chat."  
  
Smith muttered something inaudible, but left without a fight. Cat didn't realize how tensely she'd been holding herself until he was gone and her muscles uncoiled. The motion made her wince, and Cyndi popped up from her seat. "You poor thing!"  
  
Cat smiled and wrenched herself up. "Let's have some of your coffeecake." She gestured toward the kitchen. "I don't know how Alan's been feeding himself, but he certainly didn't think to have anything on hand when I came in."  
  
"Men," Cyndi giggled. "George couldn't feed himself for three days if his life depended on it." She placed a hand on Cat's wrist. "No, let me."  
  
Cyndi rummaged around in the cupboard and came up with a few plates covered in a hideous print in the same vein as the furniture.  
  
Cat chuckled. "We have to make do until we can get our hands on some new stuff," she explained. "We might have to rough it for a while. I'm just not in the interior decorating frame of mind."  
  
Cyndi gave her a sympathetic smile. "It must be so difficult, trying to get settled in to a new place in your condition."  
  
"Well, the good thing is that my job doesn't start for a while." Cat took the cake Cyndi proffered. "We were transferred, so we have some time allotted for moving."  
  
"Transferred?"  
  
"This is delicious, by the way," Cat said, lowering her fork. Cyndi beamed at her. "Anyway, Alan and I work for the government, so we occasionally get the old bureaucratic shuffle."  
  
"I'm so glad that George doesn't have to worry about that sort of thing," Cyndi said. "He's in advertising, and this is the place for it."  
  
Cat gave the woman her first genuine smile of the day, relieved that she hadn't pried into the details of her "government job." "What do you do, Cyndi?"  
  
The woman shrugged. "I haven't had time to work since we had the kids. I didn't want to hand them over to a nanny."  
  
"Kids?" Cat asked. It was the right thing to say. Cyndi pulled a couple of pictures out of her purse and started nattering on about her children's amazing accomplishments. Cat was glad that nothing but a polite smile and the occasional comment was required of her.  
  
After a while Cyndi had to pause for breath. "I'm sorry. I must be boring you to death."  
  
"Not at all." Cat smiled. "If I had kids, I'd be right there with you." Cyndi looked expectant. "Well, you know how these things go," Cat said. "I guess I picked the wrong end of the career-family continuum."  
  
Cyndi looked sympathetic again; Cat was beginning to wonder if Cyndi had any expressions between "sympathetic" and "perky." Maybe it comes with the name, she thought.  
  
Cyndi patted her. "You've got lots of time." She glanced at her wristwatch. "Speaking of which, I'm afraid I've got to run. Kindergarten's nearly out."  
  
Cat smiled. "Well, thank you very much for the cake, and for stopping by! I hope you'll come again soon."  
  
"Of course," Cyndi promised, then slipped out the door. Cat let out another sigh. That had been unreal. Maybe she was just impatient with coppertops, but that woman would be ditzy by anyone's standards.  
  
It was strange to think that everything that woman cherished - the house, the kids - was fake. Those kids... They probably weren't even plucked from the same batch. It seemed so cruel that Cyndi's job had been sacrificed for beings that weren't even her own flesh and blood.  
  
Cat sighed and headed for the living room. She flicked through channels, but even tv failed to distract her. Even someone as irritating as that Cyndi woman reminded her, forcefully, of just what was off purchasing her crutches. It was so easy to forget that Smith wasn't real, any more than that women's kids were "hers." He was a bastard, but his cutting comments and surliness only made him seem more human. If he were balnk, indifferent... That's what she'd associate with a machine.  
  
She shook her head and the pain called her back to reality. It just wasn't safe to humanize Smith too much. Every time she made that mistake, he yanked her up short with some terrifying reminder of just what he was capable of. It seemed so small, but the memory of that look he'd had in the park still made her skin crawl. Smith just wasn't human, no matter how easy it was to forget it.  
  
And now? Well, her life hung on whether she could convince a crowd of Cyndi clones that he was perfectly normal. Well, not normal, she amended. Human. If Johnson found out where they were... If he brought reinforcements...  
  
Cat turned her eyes back to the television. She wouldn't even toy with that possibility. It was easier to muse about the minutiae of life as an Agent; life with "Alan" could answer a good many questions.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
A/N: Hmmm. Extensive fiddling has occurred... I hope that no one is too upset with me for draft one of this chapter.  
  
EibhlinNiDhuinnin : You're making me blush. :P Thanks a ton for the nice review; I hope you'll be as quick to pounce on me if I fall off the path of the righteous. :P Don't worry; Soppy Smith is not Smith at all (and that's why he's so interesting!), IMHO, and won't be found here.  
  
*.*: *Grin* Yay! I am glad I hooked someone who didn't like my premise. The next chapter is alomst done...  
  
Agent Johnson: Thanks for the corrections and close reading! This story is better because you read it.  
  
Leth and Smithfan: I really have nothing of great importance to say to you, other than you made me happy. Whee! 


	9. Paradise Falls

Cat woke to a slamming car door. She groaned and rose from the couch, half-hobbling to the door; her nap must have given everything a chance to stiffen up again.  
  
She couldn't help chuckling as she threw the door open. There was something fundamentally off in a world where Agent Smith sauntered up a driveway laden with grocery bags. At least the sour look on his face was true to form.  
  
"Alan, you're a sweetheart," she quipped, taking the crutches he carried and enjoying his deepening scowl. It was almost too easy to provoke a reaction from him. And after all, Cat thought, there was no harm in mixing business and pleasure. A little emotion might get Smith to let something slip, and if not, well, it was just plain fun to tease an Agent.  
  
She took an experimental step forward on the contraptions and pitched onto the porch stairs. Cat didn't have to look at Smith to know he was smirking at her. She sighed and hauled herself off the ground. "I don't suppose you could be persuaded to pick those up for me."  
  
Smith quirked an eyebrow. Cat shot him a dark look and went through the painful process of bending down to retrieve her crutches. After testing them out with a little more caution, she felt was able to pole her way into the living room. She eyed the little stack of papers sitting next to the printer. All of the effort she'd put into that stupid report... She'd even tried to write it in Smith-speak as a sort of peace offering, although she was regretting her generosity in the face of Smith's superior look.  
  
"So, I thought you'd probably find this easier if you were well briefed. Here's a quick history of our life together, complete with little personal stories in case Cyndi corners you or something. I tried to take your more charming personality traits into account when I wrote it, so you should be able to fake it convincingly."  
  
Smith made no move to rise and Cat glared, limping over to his chair. "Smug bastard," she muttered and handed the file to him.  
  
It was fascinating to watch him read; his eyes flicked down a page in a matter of seconds. He finished her fifteen-page report in a minute or two, and Cat was pretty sure he'd read it over twice.  
  
"All right, quiz time. Where did we meet?"  
  
"We occupied the same office building for several years. We began to meet socially after a retreat designed to build team feeling."  
  
Cat blinked. Something about Smith referring to "we" threw her off. She tried to think back on her past conversations with him, but nothing came to her. She shook her head, wincing as the motion wrenched something or other. She was really going to have to get out of that habit.  
  
Smith leafed through his papers. "We occupied the same office building for several years. We began to meet socially after a retreat designed to build team feeling," he read, his forehead creasing. "What induced negative response?"  
  
Cat bit her lip, puzzled. "Oh! I'm sorry about that. I shake my head to clear it sometimes." She considered Smith. "That sounded like you read it right off the page. I don't suppose you could make it sound more natural?"  
  
She sighed when he remained silent. This was less than promising. "You'd think with all of those years spent fooling coppertops into thinking you're from the government, you could fake being married, too."  
  
"My interactions were not extensive."  
  
"And let me guess. You did all the asking." Cat settled back in her chair. "Well, that'll have to do. If someone asks a personal question, you can just growl at 'em." She grinned wickedly. "Alan, my darling, love of my life..." She paused to enjoy his narrow-eyed glare and compressed lips. He was too easy to tease. "Looks like it's your lucky day. They come bearing casseroles."  
  
Smith brushed past her without comment and opened the door. "Hello, Alan!" Cyndi squeaked, then skittered across the room to hug Cat. "We thought you might not feel like cooking tonight, so we brought dinner."  
  
"Hey, thanks." Cyndi helped Cat out of her chair and into the foyer. Cat had always been terrible with names; she'd forgotten half of them before Cyndi even finished the introductions. She settled for a headcount instead. 3 couples, six people. Maybe this was manageable.  
  
A tall, blonde man who Cat thought was Cyndi's husband shifted the dish he was holding. "Um, this is getting kind of hot to hold."  
  
Smith, thankfully, caught Cat's pointed look and led the way to the kitchen. A couple who looked to be at least 20 years older than the others stayed behind with Cat. She didn't get good vibes from either one of them; the man looked thoroughly impressed with himself and was wearing an ugly sweater to boot, and Cat was sure that his wife tried to distract people from her weasely features with that giant rope of obviously fake pearls.  
  
"Welcome to Paradise Falls," the woman said, exposing slightly pointed teeth.  
  
"Name's Stewart. Roger Stewart." Cat winced; that was more barking than speech.  
  
"You poor dear." Mrs. Stewart drifted over to Cat and laid a weak-wristed hand on her arm. "We heard all about your terrible accident."  
  
"Wouldn't have allowed this otherwise. Highly irregular."  
  
Cat resisted the urge to wince again. What did that man have against complete sentences? "What, now?"  
  
"Bit sudden on the transition, eh? No advance notice and all that. 'Scuse me." Roger started making a noise that sounded like actual barking, going quite purple and doubling over. His wife wafted back over to him and patted at his back.  
  
"Er, is he going to be all right?" Cat asked and immediately wished she hadn't. The gleam in Mrs. Stewart's eye didn't bode well.  
  
"It's his allergies. It's a terrible time of the year for them. And this heat isn't good for his joints, I'm convinced of it…"  
  
"Oh, Mr. Stewart!" Cat was certain she'd never be so happy to see Cyndi again. "Let me help you to a chair."  
  
Cat crept behind Mrs. Stewart, who was detailing just exactly what the wrong sort of chair would do to her husband's back. Lord. This was going to be a long dinner.  
  
She was surveying the table, hoping to pick the spot least likely to be next to the Stewarts, when Smith came up behind her and took her crutches. She was too busy regaining her balance to yell at him properly. By the time she'd stabilized again, he'd pulled out a chair. Smith was making a habit of pre-empting her decisions, she thought, but if it had been anyone else she would have called this a sweet gesture. As it was, she had to admire Smith's acting ability. He clamped on to her elbow and led her to the chair, and Cat couldn't help grinning a little; he must have picked up his manners from that fancy restaurant.  
  
Cyndi was struggling to get the massive Roger into his chair at the head of the table. Cat's smile widened; he was neither next to her nor across from her. Her general good will spilled over to Cyndi, so obviously in her element as she served the food. She tried to imagine her in the dank galley that passed for the kitchen of the Sekh and failed; Cyndi would be cruelly out of context in the real world.  
  
Cat flinched. That bordered on traitorous. Sure, standard Resistance training admitted that the Cyndis of the world weren't ready for the truth, but she'd been headed beyond acceptance to approval. She's being lied to, Cat admonished herself. Her happiness is based purely on fiction.   
  
She turned her attention back to the dinner conversation. Somewhere along the line, Roger Stewart had launched into what threatened to be a very long speech. Cat didn't even try to pay attention to it; if he said anything important, Smith could spit it back later anyway.  
  
"He does this every time someone new moves in," the man next to her muttered out of the side of his mouth. "It's the selfsame speech he gave us five years ago."  
  
"You have to give him credit for remembering the whole thing," Cat whispered. "He can't have written it, though. He's using pronouns."  
  
The man snorted and tried to cover the noise with a cough. Roger glared at him and then launched back into his monologue.  
  
Cat waited a few minutes to make sure it was safe; a quick glance confirmed that all glazed eyes were on Roger. "Hey, I didn't catch your name."  
  
"I've got one of those forgettable faces."  
  
"Scout's honor, I'll remember it with a name attached." Cat, too, developed a mysterious cough as Roger paused to look at her.  
  
Her companion took advantage of the noise. "It's Drew Collins."  
  
Cat's breath hissed in as Smith took her wrist in one of his patented vise grips. "You are being rude."  
  
Cat smiled an apology at Drew and attempted to focus on the speech. Smith's hand served as quite the distraction; Cat had to concentrate on not giggling. Why shouldn't they hold hands under the table? They were married, after all.  
  
Roger, thankfully, was near the end of his address. Cat forced herself to smile as he wound down. "Thanks, Mr. Stewart, for a greeting that exceeded expectations." Cat couldn't help grinning as Drew suffered another coughing fit. He should appreciate this, as well. She tugged her hand, trying to free it from Smith. He didn't bat an eye. "Honey, I need that hand." That got a reaction; his grip loosened just enough for her to pull her wrist free. She flexed it under the table; it would almost certainly bruise. Just when Smith was starting to seem tolerable…   
  
She lifted her wine glass. "Always, Paradise Falls."  
  
Cat turned to knock her glass with Smith's and was startled to see his lip twitch. He reacted to her jokes, then, as well as his own. Why would any programmer put a sense of humor into an enforcement program? She gave Smith a hard look. Maybe he transcended his code.  
  
Cat began to wonder just how many times she'd be indebted to Cyndi that evening as the woman latched on to Smith. The hyper-speed prattling betrayed that she was still nervous around "Alan." Cat couldn't help but smile. If only she knew.  
  
"Thinking of attempting a rescue?" Drew asked.  
  
Cat jumped a little. "I forgot you were there for a second."  
  
"I told you. It's the face."  
  
Cat beamed at him; this promised to be a fun conversation. Granted, anything would look good after days with nothing but Smith's sarcasm and literalism. And there could be no harm in it' Cyndi showed no signs of letting a word in edgewise. "Oh, Alan can dangle for a while. For one thing, I want to talk to whoever hired the welcoming committee."  
  
"That man's whole life was leading up to this. It's kind of pathetic, when you think about it." Drew shook his head. "Ol' Rog raised residential regulation to an art form."  
  
Cat bit her lip; the gesture was fast becoming her favorite surrogate head shake. "Residential regulation?"  
  
"Oh, you know. That silly little book you got when you bought this place."  
  
Cat checked her impulse to kick Smith under the table for omitting crucial information. "Truth be told, I was too busy to deal with the whole moving bit, so I kinda let Alan take care of everything."  
  
"So you just let him buy this place without even looking at it?" Drew shook his head. "Every wife should be so reasonable."  
  
She grinned. "I would say I like to live dangerously, but Alan's such an anal retentive that leaving it up to him is anything but."  
  
Drew grinned. "Tell him to join the club. Roger's always wandering around making sure that hedges and grasses are regulation length."  
  
"Lord. That's what's in this little rule book?"  
  
"Little is hardly the word for it. Tolstoy wouldn't dare publish something half so thick, but I guess it has to be. There's a regulation for anything you can think of, right down to fencing materials. No American-dream style pickets here, thank you."  
  
Cat smirked a little; how like Smith to pick someplace where everything was numerically proscribed. "That seems awfully restrictive."  
  
"Hey, what do you expect, living in a gated community?"  
  
An electronic "Fur Elise" shattered Cat's already fraying nerves. She yelped out loud, eyes darting around the table. Any one of them could turn into Johnson... God, he had enough hosts to bring his whole squad this time....  
  
The woman next to Drew pulled something from her pocket. "Dr. Collins speaking."  
  
Drew put a hand on Cat's arm. "Hey, are you all right? You're as white as a ghost."  
  
She gave him a shaky smile. "I think my painkillers might have worn off. I'll be right back."  
  
She fled into the upstairs bathroom, gripping the sink's edge and closing her eyes. Take deep breaths, she thought. God, she had been so sure that Johnson had called the numbers on the cell phone bill...  
  
Her stomach turned as she played the evening back in her head. There were so many little things that would set the gossips in this godforsaken place off, and if they did their chatting over the phone instead of in person... Cat shuddered. Johnson would be on them in a second. It was nothing short of a miracle that Smith hadn't drawn his gun on somebody already.  
  
Nothing terrible has happened, she told herself. You have to calm down. She breathed as deeply as she could. She just needed a couple moments to compose herself...  
  
The door burst open. Shit. Smith. "I don't suppose there's any chance you'll just get the hell out of my sight."  
  
"Are you injured?"  
  
"What do you think? Some of us don't heal overnight." Cat narrowed her eyes at the Agent; this was all his fault, after all. "What the hell is wrong with you anyway? You're a frickin' computer..."  
  
"I am a program."  
  
Cat's knuckles went white on the sink's edge. "Whatever. I know damn right well that the fact that this house is in the middle of a gated community did not just slip your mind. You couldn't be bothered to tell me that little detail, hmm? What the hell were you thinking? Did you stop to research what these things were like for one second? A very specific kind of person moves in here, Smith. A person with a quiet little life, who likes nothing better than to weed the garden as an excuse to spy on the neighbors. Everyone knows everything about everyone else's business. Not exactly a prime place to hide. Oh, but the petty little concerns of the viruses weren't worth noticing, even if you could have saved yourself a lot of trouble..."  
  
Smith's lip curled. "I did not anticipate the loss of my first residence."  
  
"Great. Just great. But you're 'cautious,' and so you went and got a house that would be useless at worst and near impossible to actually hide in at best. I don't know how the hell you talked that Stewart creature into letting a single man buy this place anyway..."  
  
"I purchased the property while still under the auspices of the system."  
  
"Wonderful. So you manipulated code. It's a wonder Johnson isn't here already."  
  
Smith frowned at her. "I did no such thing."  
  
"But you just said..."  
  
"The Mainframe finds it useful to create a certain aura of authority around its enforcement operatives."  
  
Cat paused mid-rant. That definitely wasn't in the information Neo had given her, and she hadn't even had to drag it out of Smith, not really... She filed that away for later consideration. "So, what was the master plan?" she continued in a calmer voice. "I mean, I don't think you exactly planned to acquire a 'wife,' and there's like seven rules against living single here."  
  
Smith didn't answer. Cat let herself slump forward; Smith made her so tired sometimes. On the upshot, her little outburst had gone a long way toward dissipating the panic. "never mind, then. You're off the hook for now, but when everybody's gone I want some answers. There won't be any more nasty little surprises."  
  
She intended to brush past him but he latched on to her elbow. "Stupid restaurant manners," Cat muttered as he led her down the stairs.  
  
"We're in here," Cyndi called from the living room. Cat looked around as she came in, but Drew was nowhere to be found. "The Collins' said to tell you goodbye. Linda had to rush in to the clinic."  
  
Cat felt like her only ally had deserted her. She started to sulk as she looked for a place to sit; the Stewarts had the couch cornered and Cyndi's husband hovered behind her chair. That left just one seat. "Take it," she muttered, sinking down on the armrest. It wasn't terribly comfortable, but Smith was in easy pinching range if he did anything too conspicuous.  
  
"You poor thing," Mrs. Stewart said, clucking. "Why, Roger's always having a turn after meals himself, but you're so young."  
  
Cat shifted a little, working the chair's edge out of her back. "Oh, my stamina's just not quite back to speed yet. I only just got out of the doctor's."  
  
"How thoughtless of us!" Cyndi squeaked. "Of course you're tired."  
  
"Nonsense," Roger bellowed. "Do her some good to get back in society."  
  
Cat's smile was more than a little forced; she should have expected something like that. There was no way she'd get out of this so easily.  
  
"My wife is quite... fragile." Cat jumped a little; Smith hadn't exactly been Mr. Talkative that evening.  
  
"Of course she is," Cyndi said, smiling sympathetically. "We were just on our way out, weren't we, Mr. Stewart?"  
  
"Of course, of course," he barked, hauling his ponderous form from the couch. He lumbered over to Smith and offered a meaty hand. "Always glad to have decent folks coming into the neighborhood."  
  
Cat managed a watery smile. "You'll have to come back when I'm fit to entertain."  
  
"Yes, yes," he muttered as his wife shooed him toward the door. "Feel better dear."  
  
Cyndi popped up from her chair and embraced Cat. "I really hope you feel better."  
  
Cat smiled and meant it; Cyndi was kind of sweet, even if she was empty-headed. "I really can't thank you enough for arranging this. I just wasn't up to cooking today."  
  
"Think nothing of it," her husband said, shaking hands with Smith.  
  
Cyndi snuck back for one more hug before bouncing out the door. Cat lolled back on the chair as it closed behind her, suddenly exhausted. It had been a very long evening. "You know what, Smith? I'm just too tired to deal with you tonight. We'll have that chat tomorrow, hmm?" He didn't answer. Cat sighed. She hadn't really expected him to. "It's your turn to have the bed."  
  
"I do not require it."  
  
She sighed. "Have it your way," she muttered, ignoring that he was doing her a favor. It was much easier to be angry at him for nothing in particular.  
  
She trudged up the stairs without saying goodnight. It wasn't like he'd care, anyway. She brushed her teeth with unnecessary force; the fear and frustration were definitely starting to get to her. Sometimes she was very, very aware that she had no way to leave the Matrix for more than a week. If the Agents came, she was as good as dead.  
  
Cat shook her head; that ws a bad train to catch right before bedtime. She was halfway to her bed when she paused and went back to lock the door behind her. After all, it couldn't hurt.  
  
~~~~~  
  
A/N: Wow. I had amazing amounts of technological trouble with this thing. My disk went bad, the word processor had a fatal error, and the screen just blinked off... In short, I ended up writing this thing five separate times. When I finally got that all done, ff.net's servers crashed... Maybe it was a sign from God that it just wasn't ready to post until now... In any case, I do apologize for the inordinate delay. I really can't imagine that it'll happen again.  
  
To all of you who reviewed: if it weren't for you, I probably would have just gotten frustrated and given up this time around. I want to respond to everyone, but I am too afraid to wait to post... Watch the author's note next chapter. You should all go check out the wonderful site Smithfan recommended, too. :P  
  
Oh, and a big thanks goes to my friend Thom. He really helped me out with some editing this time around. Eyes Only also gets a shout-out for providing some useful Agent Johnson advice.  
  
By the way - think calm before the storm. *mysterious wink* 


	10. Quid Pro Quo

Cat had never been a morning person. In some ways, that was her favorite thing about life on a ship. The lack of sunlight made "morning" a relative term anyway, and a good many of her shipmates had shared Cat's fondness for silent staring immediately after waking.  
  
That all seemed irrelevant as she stumbled down the stairs, wet and sore and in no mood to deal with Smith's barbs. They were bad enough when she started out relatively cheerful; she'd be damned if she was civil about them now.  
  
She could hear motion in the living room. Speak of the devil, she thought sourly as Smith came into the foyer. She half-growled at him, giving him a wide berth as she headed for the refrigerator. It was probably too much to hope for... Ah. Bliss.  
  
Cat wrapped her hands around the Diet Coke and slid into a chair, closing her eyes and savoring the taste. Smith was silent, for once when she wanted him that way. By the time she'd drained the can it seemed very easy to find his good points. For one thing, he must have gotten herbeverage of choice in the first place. Thoughtful, that.  
  
Cat snorted to herself. "Thoughtful" had nothing to do with it. The computer in Smith's brain must have noticed that she drank the stuff whenever she could get her hands on it. It was nothing but logic circuits at work. Still, maybe she'd turn that old adage on its head. It's the effect that counts.  
  
She flashed a wide grin at Smith. "Hey, thanks. I'll be twice as useful with my caffeine jones taken care of."  
  
Smith raised an eyebrow. "Your... jones?"  
  
Cat half-shrugged, embarrassed. "I just focus better with some Diet Coke in my system."  
  
The Agent knit his brows together. "It is not possible for a physical dependency to exist.  
  
You have not been exposed to the substance when outside the Matrix..."  
  
Cat sighed. "Trust you to analyze it to death." She cradled the now-empty can in her hands, staring at it to avoid looking at Smith. "How would whatever's in charge of code here know that I shouldn't have a dependency, anyway? Every time I've been in the Matrix I drink Diet Coke like there's no tomorrow. I certainly didn't think to tinker with that in the Construct, and I'm pretty sure you people can't track what I do and don't eat outside of the Matrix. Everything is telling your codemaster, or whatever, that I ought to have a dependency on caffeine. And I'll be damned if this headache is all in my mind."  
  
She started as something cold pressed into her hand. Smith moved back into his own chair, smirking as Cat stared at the can she now held. "The contents of the previous canister significantly improved your mood."  
  
She shot him a dark look, but popped the can open anyway. At least Smith had the good manners to stay silent as she polished off the beverage. She was almost ready to believe he was tolerable by the time she was finished.  
  
Now or never, she thought. Smith's relatively congenial mood was rare enough that she'd better seize the day. "Let's play a game, hmmm?" No response. She snorted at the table.  
  
"I can hear you frowning. I think you'll like this game, though."  
  
She couldn't resist drawing the silence out just a little. For one thing, she was pretty sure that she could hear Smith's teeth grinding. "It's called quid pro quo. You ask a question, and I answer. If I won't, you get to ask another. After I answer, I get to ask you something."  
  
Smith positively glowered. "That is a most inefficient..."  
  
"It's not supposed to be efficient, it's supposed to be fun. Oh, come on. You don't have to answer anything you don't want to. Humor me."  
  
She could see a little muscle working in his jaw, and trailed off for a moment. Why oh why had it been necessary to program that into Smith? Was it even programmed at all? Maybe it was some part of Neo channeled in through the connection... She tried to remember if she'd ever seen that particular twitch in Neo. She snorted to herself; Neo had probably never been worked up enough to twitch in his whole life.  
  
She started as the hairs on the back of her neck began to rise; she could feel Smith's stare. "I believe this... game involved questions," he purred. The combination of that gaze and that voice made her shiver in a way she didn't want to analyze. Mostly fear, part... something else...  
  
Cat swallowed. "I just, er, drifted off into my own little world for a minute there, sorry. Er, I'll just start, then." She shook her head regardless of residual soreness; Smith had wiped all thought of the game out of her mind, and she struggled to come up with a question that would be useful but not suspicious, at least for a beginning.  
  
She had to resist the urge to shrink back in her chair under Smith's continued scrutiny.  
  
Somewhere between Diet Coke and twenty questions he'd turned on the menace. The pause was stretching out, Smith was beginning to smirk, no doubt about to deliver some scathing remark about her failure at her own game... "Why are there always three agents?" she blurted.  
  
"I mean, why not four, or seven?"  
  
It felt as if an actual physical weight had lifted from her chest now that she'd said something, anything. Those icy eyes turned downward instead of straight through her, the cold face settled into its familiar frown. Cat took the moment to bring her breathing back to normal. She hadn't noticed when she began panting. Damn the man, kick-starting her fight-or-flight instincts without so much as twitching a finger.  
  
"That is irrelevant." Smith still stared at the table.  
  
"Come again?"  
  
"Your inquiry is irrelevant."  
  
"Idle curiosity. That's how the game works, Smith. I ask what I want to know, and if it's irrelevant it can't do you any harm to answer. Besides, don't you want your turn?" She gave him a hard look. "It's much more efficient that running instant replay on my memories, for one thing."  
  
Cat couldn't resist imagining little gears whirring as Smith fell silent again. She wished she could pry into his head, find out just what it was that made answering even this trivial question such an ordeal.  
  
He sat quiet for so long that his answer seemed more like an interruption than anything. "Agents are constructed to apprehend and interrogate. A team of three allows for the necessary specialization."  
  
Cat was half-afraid to speak in case he thought the better of his 'confession.' Now or never, she thought. He's certainly never been this open before. "Ah, but that's half an answer. What sort of specialization dictates three, and not seven?"  
  
Smith's frown deepened. "One Agent is constructed specifically for speed, another for strength. A third is endowed with more substantial intelligence, to facilitate interrogation."  
  
"And also, I would imagine, to come up with ways to deploy the other two effectively." Cat smiled. "That's you, then?"  
  
Smith's face slid back into blank. "I am now entitled to an answer. Quid pro quo."  
  
Cat grinned. "Fair enough."  
  
Smith stared at her in disconcerting silence. Cat swallowed, feeling frozen in that gaze. What could the holdup possibly be? She couldn't believe he needed so much time to formulate a question... "I think you're just trying to make me nervous."  
  
Smith's lip curled; was she mistaken, or had there been a little less contempt in the expression this time around. "You are incorrect. I am making you nervous."  
  
Cat grinned at him. "Right in one. And here I was thinking you hadn't any good question to ask me..."  
  
Smith's smirk broadened. "You have been most... forthcoming."  
  
"By which you mean, you asked me all you think I know that you want to know."  
  
She paused at Smith's sudden reversion to his "blank face." "Or," she said, "you don't want to ask me a question in this context when I will scrutinize just why the information is important to you."  
  
Smith's eyes turned to ice; Cat grinned at him. "Don't like it when I meet you on your own playing field, huh? Prove me wrong, then. Ask me something ridiculously trivial, like my favorite color or my birthday or something."  
  
Those flint eyes didn't move away. "Why did you allow Thomas Anderson to gain control of your ship?"  
  
Cat felt sick to her stomach. "That's cheating," she said, her attempt to sound jovial wavering along with her voice. "You're not supposed to ask questions you already know the answer to."  
  
"Quid pro quo."  
  
"All right," she said, shrugging. "I needed a crew, and he was the only person who came along offering one. That's about the size of it."  
  
"That is half an answer, as you say. Why were you in need of a crew?"  
  
"Why are you asking me this?" Cat struggled to push the grief she could feel rising, swamping her as it had so many times in the past. She would get hysterical , Smith would get violent, and this little display of emotion would let him know just where another weak spot could be found....  
  
Smith remained silent. The mocking glint in his eyes, his slightly upturned mouth froze Cat's swelling panic. He was enjoying this, the bastard. And she was giving him information she'd rather he didn't have. Her voice was cold and steady as she said, " Well, my last crew died, all of them, in the Matrix."  
  
"And how did they die?"  
  
"Agents," she whispered. "I didn't see them coming. I was too scattered, trying to keep track of all three groups like that and they just came out of nowhere..."  
  
Cat fell silent, staring at nothing and trying not to see the faces. The look of horror on Binary's face was always there, waiting to surface accusingly... If only she'd been paying more attention. If only she was a little bit quicker, if only she'd had time to think it through. But she'd been stupid, she'd sent them all to the same exit where the Agents were waiting, waiting and there was no escape.  
  
The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and she was aware again of the kitchen and Smith's penetrating stare. She shook her head, tried to smirk. "Clever boy. You managed to get two for one."  
  
She avoided his eyes as she pushed her chair back and fled upstairs. To cry now, in front of him... It was too shameful to think about.  
  
She bit her lip hard enough to cut it as she made her way to her room, barricading herself in and plopping down on the bed. She expected to burst into sobs like she had too many times before, but only a few silent tears squeezed out. Maybe it was Smith, she thought. Screaming her grief where Smith could hear her seemed to sully it somehow. Oh, how he'd mock her human weakness, both for failing them and mourning it later. If he laughed...  
  
She shook her head. Smith never laughs, she told herself, because Smith isn't human. If he were human than he'd understand. He'd be mourning, too; Neo had told her about the new and improved agents that must have replaced Smith's team.  
  
The sadness faded, replaced by sudden, angry resolve. Cat leapt from the bed, wiping her eyes on a sleeve as she threw the door open. "Hey, Smith?"  
  
She half-jogged to the kitchen. He was sitting silently at the table, just as she'd left him. "Hey, Smith," she interjected before his smirk and the cutting remark it undoubtedly heralded could fully form. "Quid pro quo." She paused to catch her breath. "Do you miss them? Your teamdid they get destroyed because of you?"  
  
Tiny spots of color appeared at Smith's cheekbones, his mouth compressing almost to nothing. He rose from the table and almost before Cat could register it he was gone, the living room door closing behind him.  
  
She stared at the space where he'd been sitting, the anger melting away so she could feel the hurt again. A little built of guilt was there, too, for hurting him on purpose... Nonsense, she told herself. You can't hurt him, because he doesn't have any feelings to hurt.  
  
But that look... She couldn't believe that there hadn't been any pain in it. He deserved it, she though furiously. He did it to me, after all. Quid pro quo.  
  
But she couldn't quite believe that either.  
  
She walked to the couch and huddled miserably on it, ignoring the tears that trickled down her cheeks as she settled in to wait for Smith's return.  
  
******************  
  
Howdy, folks. I know it's been far too long. I had enough poor taste to contract pneumonia, that's kept me stir crazy and in the hospital for a month or so. Grrrr.  
  
Just fyi, I ill finish this story if it kills me. And all of your reviews, even or perhaps especially the critical ones, make me all melty and happy. If I tried to respond to them all individually like I usually do, this author's note would be like seven pages long. Perhaps you can settle for my sincere gratitude.  
  
Oh, and one more thing. This chapter benefited greatly from a partial beta-read by Logos, whose excellent and thoughtful story has been inexplicably neglected and can be found here:  
  
http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1325668  
  
She recalls having read another theory about Jones and Brown as specialty enforcers/pursuers; if I inadvertently borrowed this from somebody, I am sorry and if you'll tell me I will be of course delighted to acknowledge you... I thought my version up myself, so please don't think I'm a horrible thief. :P  
  
Oh, and portions of this chapter are a fairly obvious nod to Silence of the Lambs...  
  
You may now return to your reguarly scheduled awesomeness. 50 reviews? Y'all ROCK! 


	11. Deception

Agent Smith sped down the sidewalk toward no particular destination. That bothered him, when he paused to think about it. Aimless motion, wasted power. It was illogical.  
  
His jaw clenched as the next thought flicked past his eyelids: so was he.  
  
That was incorrect, he thought. He hadn't killed her. Her continued usefulness, both as a way to legitimize his presence here and a way to finally reach Thomas Anderson, had prevented him from reaching for the holster.  
  
But, he thought, I wished to kill her. I have never had illogical desires before.  
  
Smith clenched his fists without noticing. It had not been an illogical desire. He was not programmed to accept impertinence. He was not programmed to allow Resistants to live.  
  
Nor did his programming allow him to disobey the Mainframe.  
  
Smith's fists unclenched minutely. This thought, at least, was easily combated. His programming had been altered by Thomas Anderson. He had become something more than an Agent, something the system did not recognize but that was capable of preserving it nevertheless. He had been altered for a purpose.  
  
That still did not explain the strength of his reaction. Twice now he'd responded disproportionately to her queries about his operatives. The previous assumption that it had been a response to inappropriate information-seeking behavior on Catherine Thompson's part did not hold in this case. She had apparently wished to inflict some emotional injury on him by assigning responsibility for his operatives' deletion.  
  
Of course, she had not been successful. His reaction was simply irritation with the vagaries of human behavior - a very familiar, very logical portion of his programming.  
  
Smith's lips went white as his jaw clenched nearly to popping. Logic would not be evaded in this way. (I have never before wished to evade logic, he thought. His short fingernails pierced the flesh of his palms.) His reaction had not been the familiar, acceptable rage he had experienced long before his break with the system.  
  
It could not, of course, have been emotion. That was a human reaction, an expression of their inferior, illogical natures. It must have been a purely rational regret for the loss of his operatives' efficiency, for their ludicrous replacement by the inept Miss Thompson.  
  
Smith's motion ground to a halt as he clenched his fists still tighter. This response had not been the rational regret he'd experienced in the past.  
  
It must be an overlooked result of his expanded capabilities. It must be useful in some way, as the rest of his modifications were. This seeming irrationality must have purpose.  
  
Smith's fists did not unclench as he resumed his brisk pace toward nothing in particular.  
  
***  
  
At the moment, Cat couldn't remember why she'd ever asked to be unplugged. It was much easier to exist in this place, where anger could be entirely sublimated to soupy TV shows and the chocolate mint ice cream that had inexplicably made Smith's shopping list.  
  
She'd been told that crying did not become her, but she didn't damn well care what became her. She was beat to hell and wearing the same pajama pants for the third day running for lack of alternative clothing. She might as well be blotchy too.  
  
The doorbell rang but she didn't move. She certainly didn't feel like playing the suburban hostess right now.  
  
But the bell rang again, and again, and again... Finally it stopped and she could hear shouting. "Cat? I can see you through the window."  
  
She sighed and rose from the couch, wincing as her joints gave the protest they always did if she allowed herself to be still for more than five minutes.  
  
She threw open the door and frowned at the profoundly unnatural sight of a non-grinning Drew Collins. "If you can see me from the window and I don't answer the door, maybe you should take the hint," she said.  
  
"Maybe you should take a look in the mirror," Drew said, ignoring Cat's enraged gasp. "You look like someone's put you through the wringer."  
  
"And you look like someone I met yesterday."  
  
"Touché." Drew gave her a disarming grin. "But it was an awfully fun meeting."  
  
"Which of course prompts you to come knocking down my door the next morning to tell me that I look like shit, which I could have ascertained without your eager assistance."  
  
Drew sighed. "All right, fair enough. I was just worried, that's all."  
  
Cat frowned, curious in spite of herself. "Worried about what?"  
  
"About you, especially after one Alan Smith stomped past my house without so much as noticing that he smacked into me. He looked pretty angry."  
  
She tried to shrug and winced a little, and noticed that Drew frowned a little as she did so. "So take it up with him."  
  
"I'd rather take it up with you." Drew ran a nervous hand through already-tousled hair. "Cat, I'm a trained doctor."  
  
"But not a practicing one?"  
  
"Not since we've had kids, no. But that's not the point."  
  
Cat sighed. "I can see there'll be no distracting you."  
  
"No, no there won't be." Drew reached out and gently cupped her face. Cat stiffened. Sure, he was a nice guy, but he was married and God only knew what he wanted...  
  
He was staring at her face, she realized, not moving at all. She backed away and he let his hand drop without comment. Well, she sure as hell wasn't subscribing to that policy. "What was that all about?"  
  
"As I was saying, Cat, I'm a doctor, and I know defensive wounds when I see them. You didn't get these in any car accident."  
  
All of the blood drained out of Cat's face. She opened her mouth to reply but nothing would come out. Shit, she thought. This is it, we're caught, we're going to get kicked out of here and then what the hell are we going to do...  
  
"When I saw your husband," he emphasized the words a little, "walking down the street in a towering rage, I had to wonder..."  
  
"He didn't hit me." Cat shook her head, eyes on the carpet. "We had a bit of a tiff, sure, but it was nothing more than a little shouting. I'm sure every couple has some of those."   
  
She raised her head to look at Drew, who had taken his bottom lip into his mouth. It was, she though incongruously, kind of endearing. No, no, no, she thought. She was willing to bet that was the beginning of another bout of hysteria, easy to provoke in the state she was in. Drew would be sure to take that as confirmation of his suspicions.  
  
Her voice was steady and she looked him straight in the eye and said, "He didn't hit me."  
  
Drew released his lip, still looking at her critically. "Has he ever?"  
  
Her head darted to the side involuntarily. "Of course... of course not."  
  
"Then where did all of this come from?"  
  
"What do you think gives you the right to come into my home and interrogate me? How in the hell do you know that I don't have a damn good reason for keeping that to myself? How..."  
  
Drew interrupted her. "That gives me the answers I need, I think."  
  
Cat cursed herself as she started to cry again, doubly angry that she nestled into Drew's comforting arm so easily and actually felt a little better for it. After a minute or two she calmed herself down enough to speak. "Please... You don't understand..."  
  
The arm around her shoulders stiffened, then tightened a little. "Cat, I..."  
  
"You can't tell anyone! You don't know what it would do, you can't know..."  
  
"You wouldn't have to worry about it. They'd keep you safe from him."  
  
"I don't need to be kept safe from him."  
  
Drew brushed her shoulder; her hissing gasp was audible. "I beg to differ."  
  
"What would happen to me? I'd have to leave this place and God only knows where I'd go..."  
  
"Even Roger wouldn't throw someone out under these circumstances."  
  
She sighed. "Drew, trust me on this one. It'd be an absolute disaster." She turned slightly so she could look him in the eyes. "Besides, you live here. You can play Sherlock Holmes, MD some more. If he hits me, you'll know."  
  
Drew's other arm crept up to hug her. "Cat, I..."  
  
"Drew, please... You don't know the half of this situation."  
  
He sighed. "All right. Have it your way."  
  
Cat pulled back with a cheeky smile. "I always do." Drew chuckled. "Right now, my way is the path of the terrible hostess, wherein I tell you to make free with my kitchen while I clean up enough to be fit for human society. I think," she said with a weak grin, "that we are now required to be friends. It's a prerequisite for interventions, you know."  
  
Drew snorted. "And that's why I like you. I'm afraid I have to run, tempting as the serve-yourself method of partygiving sounds."  
  
"Sure, sure, you have time to make me cry but not to stick around for the aftermath. You men are all the same."  
  
Drew's smile was a little strained. "Not quite the same."  
  
Cat's grin faded. "Well, have a good afternoon, then. And come by sometime to just visit, eh?"  
  
"Scout's honor," he said, nodding and heading out the door.  
  
Cat watched it close behind him. What the hell had just happened here? She shook her head, resisting the urge to collapse back on the couch again. If it were possible to have a more draining day, she wasn't sure how to do it.  
  
She sighed, toughing her admittedly matted hair. Hygiene could wait, but not forever. If Smith got home when she was in the shower... Well, he could damn well wait to bark her out.  
  
***  
  
Hey, hey, hey. I promised I hadn't abandoned you, and here's the proof. Two chapters in less than a week... Can I be forgiven for my past sins? :P  
  
Let's all clap and scream for Logos, whose assistance as an editor was again invaluable.  
  
Also, Drucilla's "Understanding" bears mention in reference to this chapter... She makes use of actual domestic abuse, and while the situation presented here is dramatically different, I'm positive her influence is rattling around in it.  
  
* grin * I guess what I said about last chapter should hold here... But, well, I want to respond to y'all. Here, in alphabetical order:  
  
*.*: Thanks for sticking with me and this fic! I hope I continue to earn your good opinion. :P  
  
Agent-Johnson: Not long now, scout's honor.  
  
Arabwel: Thanks very much!  
  
Bethy the Vampire Slayer: Ask and ye shall receive.  
  
Brem Nakada: I am, thanks, and let me add some confetti to the mix. :P  
  
Karina of Darkness: You're too kind, as usual.  
  
Selena: Hmmm... I've never read your fic, but I'll get to it as soon as I have time!  
  
Stormhawk: Thanks! Hope you're liking it still.  
  
Turbie: You pegged me... I've done a lot of journalism. If I say that I'm a Spartan, do I get the cool little hat with the brush? 


	12. Irritation revelation

Author's Note, placed distractingly at the beginning instead of the end:

So, I fell right off the wagon, for nearly two years. Two years is long on any time scale, but practically an eternity on the internet. It would be kind of silly to explain why, I suppose, given that it would take a bit of telling and besides, I am sure that precious few of the awesome people who always supported this little story have refrained from giving up on me. I will say, though, that I have always had this horrible tickle at the back of my mind that reminds me I've got unfinished business. Well, here's to finishing it. I already have another chapter in beta, and have started writing 14, so I can promise that no ridiculous delays should happen this time. I do hope that some of the people who I got to know a little when I started this are still around. I'd love to hear from you all, in review form or out of it. I feel kind of sketchy e-mailing after such a long absence or I'd do it that way. Here's hoping you notice I'm back from the dead.  As a sort of half-apology (only half, because it was going to be in there anyway), in the next chapter there will be a kiss. And yes, an Agent Smith kiss, with all that now implies. (Don't worry; he isn't imminently going soft, but I guess you'll see.) That should be up tomorrow or the next day, but do e-mail if you'd like a little bit now while I get it properly edited.

Anyway, Revolutions went and drove this completely AU, but I'm OK with that because I was quite disappointed by Revolutions. This story's timeline is written to follow Reloaded; I never got the sense that Armageddon was, like, days away for Zion from the film, so this story assumes that it isn't.

"Dammit," Cat hissed as she fumbled with her French braid for the third time. She knew that she should just give in and plait it the old-fashioned way, but that seemed like a surrender. She'd been able to throw her hair into a more complex braid when she was in kindergarten, for God's sake.

But that was before she was yanked out of the Matrix and into the unforgiving world of ship life. There wasn't much point to topping a threadbare tunic with a tidy hairstyle. It had been much easier to throw her hair back and forget about it.

It was stupid. It was inconsequential. But, Cat thought as she rammed a brush through her hair, there was something awful and final about it. It was proof positive that this wasn't her place anymore - McDonald's and Diet Coke or no.

Diet Coke… That really would be just the thing right now. And the Coke that Smith had bought her was sitting in the fridge downstairs. Damn him, she thought, damn him for tainting even that with his association.

She let the brush fall onto her vanity and glanced at the clock. Three in the morning. Great. That "nap" had been nothing more than a thinly veiled excuse to avoid being conscious when he'd come home, and she'd known it when she'd flopped down to sleep in the first place. Time to face the music.

Cat tiptoed down the stairs, conscious that she was being ridiculous. Whatever agents did at night, she was sure that it didn't involve sleeping. And even if it did, they could probably hear someone Cat-sized going by, on tiptoes or otherwise.

Just as she'd suspected, Smith wasn't on the couch. He was in the living room, though, staring at a computer screen buzzing with a very familiar green code. Cat knew that he saw her come in, too; his jaw tightened just enough to be noticeable, even if he wouldn't look in her direction.

She hovered behind the couch uncertainly for a moment. What now? She half-felt she should apologize, but he had really been at fault as much as she had… It was hard to bring herself to believe he'd care anyway. He'd probably just add another "human weakness" to his list… But at the same time, it felt more than a little awkward just to ignore it. Something had happened, and she certainly hadn't taken all of the moral high ground.

She padded into the kitchen, grabbed for the refrigerator door. The cool blast was welcome against her bruises. A cold can was even nicer, pressed between her eyes to sooth her suddenly aching head. She was hiding. Again. Not like she didn't have a good reason for it. Smith was even more of a bastard than usual today, and she really, really, really didn't want to test him with Drew breathing down her neck. Any sort of conversation would do just that. It could wait for a while, maybe a long while.

But lurking around was not so much an option. She tried picturing Neo's face as she told him that she hadn't spoken to Smith for a couple of weeks because they'd had a tiff. Cat snorted; it was never hard to picture Neo's face. It was either going to be blank or kinda confused. Maybe Trinity had unearthed the mythical third expression, she thought, her lip curling up in a gesture she didn't so much associate with herself. God, I'm picking up his mannerisms, she thought. How disturbing is that?

In any case, staring into the fridge like it had all the answers wasn't going to fix a damn thing. God only knew what he was up to on the computer, anyway. Cat sighed. There was nothing for it. "I'm goin' in," she muttered, more to break the hush than anything.

She lumbered back into the living room and propped herself up on the couch arm so that she had a clear view of Smith's profile. Green glare from the code flickered over his sharp features, heightening the aura of malice he seemed to ooze so gleefully. Did she look like that, in the operator's chair? Nah. Her jaw line was soft, her mouth round and her nose rounder. The hard lines of typeset wouldn't look right on that kind of face. Smith's hard angles and ever-compressing lips matched the hard lines of the letters, precise like only a something a computer cooked up could be. Maybe, she thought, it made sense that he looked so natural bathed in code. After all, that's what he was.

Cat shook her head with a little more care than usual, still mindful of her injuries. The silence must be getting to her, making her think crap like that. She longed to tap her foot, or shift, or something, make him look at her, make something other than the long fingers tapping intermittently at the keyboard move in the room. She was suddenly half-afraid to move, breaking what seemed like an eternal hush even though she knew she'd disrupted it by entering seconds before. She couldn't help but hold that unnatural still for a while, her calf muscles straining to keep her from teetering off the couch edge as she stared at Smith. Maybe he'd say something, or at least acknowledge her presence before he strained his jaw muscles. It's a wonder she couldn't hear bones crack.

Cat snorted softly, breaking the silence she'd been so keen on keeping a moment before. She was being ridiculous, and she knew it, but _honestly. _The silent treatment was something that twelve year olds did. Hell, not even modern kids did it. What worked for Beaver Cleaver does not work for deadly machine enforcers. But Smith seemed determined to stick with it, staring straight ahead as though he was quite alone. It was sort of fun, irritating him without putting any work into it. Cat tried to school herself to stillness just to watch him try to ignore her. Still, lips could only be pressed together so tightly. Maybe she should knock it off before his irritation reached failsafe levels. "What are you looking at?"

Smith's only reply was to further tighten his straining jaw. Jesus Christ, he must have been pissed off by her little show earlier. Cat sighed and hauled herself off the couch. Stubborn bastard, she thought, eyeing the Agent as she came up behind him. His shoulders were tightening as she drew closer, and the frown that so often crossed his face was etched in more deeply than usual. Perhaps now was not the time to press.

Still, it couldn't be that threatening to look at the computer. After all, he was sitting here in the living room looking at it, and hardly seemed inclined to hide it from her. Even if he was, she'd almost welcome the chance to fight. It had to be better than this creepy silence.

Cat glanced at the screen, bit her lip and leaned in to take a closer gander. There was a little déjà vu in that screen… Scratch that, Cat thought. A lot of déjà vu. The code flowing in front of her was very familiar indeed. Jesus, she thought, it's the entry and exit points of the Matrix.

What could this possibly mean? No one had seen Smith anywhere near these places, let alone been killed by anything that hadn't been clearly identified as an Agent. But maybe this was new. Maybe he figured it out somehow from her, some offhand remark or something her brain that let him fine-tune the program, and oh God if the real Agents got ahold of this private code…

Smith shifted his shoulder, forcing a grunt from Cat. She couldn't remember pressing into it in the first place. She took a step back anyway, eyes fixed on the code and nausea ripping through her. "What do you want this for?"

Her stomach plummeted as the code in one corner of the screen rippled and changed, making room for the binary representation of a Resistant. Ohmigod, he could see them, see everything… "You're not going to… Are you going to…"

Smith didn't answer, but Cat couldn't tear herself away from the screen. Little dots, someone's crew, someone's Binary about to meet a sticky end like hers had and oh, God, some poor operator would have to pilot the ship home in the still and growing reek of death and failure and silent accusation, accusation made articulate by the hard stares or averted eyes of the people who'd help her land.

She was panting now, shaking, and, she dimly realized, pressing into Smith again to get a little closer to the screen, as if she could press herself into the scene and warn whoever it was, or at least die beside them instead of slinking back home with the awful knowledge that it really was her fault.

Her vision swam a little and she closed her eyes hard to clear them. When she re-opened them again the code was gone, missing. Dead, dead, dead, and she hadn't even been dutiful enough to watch this time.

Smith's elbow was pressing painfully, pointedly into her soft belly. Oh, God, she'd plastered herself against his back to stare at the screen. Back up, back off, she though, moving back from the chair in a haze. But she couldn't quit looking at the screen.

Cat drew a shuddering breath, not quite ready to look away yet. Think, she screamed at herself. Whoever it was, they can't be dead. They've just gone off the screen. If they were dead, there'd be Agents, there'd be _something_.

"Nothing, nothing, tra la la," she gasped, half-hysterical, quoting something although she wasn't quite sure what. Something, anything, to fill the silence that suddenly reminded her of the Sekh after… Well, just after.

Think, goddammit. If he'd had it for a while… Well, there hadn't been an unusual death rate lately or anything. What he could have done… Clone upon clone, more than enough Smiths to keep a couple at each exit at all times. If she hadn't already felt queasy, Cat was sure she'd start now.

Cat closed her eyes and drew in a few slow breaths. God, she was always freaking out at the stupidest times. Right now, when she ought to be staring at that map to see whether there were Smiths or regular old Agents or whatever haunting that map. Figure out why they weren't slaughtering everybody if they were there… God, the damage they could do…

Cat shook her head hard. None of those thoughts, not when she was trying to get a grip. One more breath, in then out. Ok. She opened her eyes and looked back at the screen. There were Agents here and there, but nothing concentrated. Nothing unusual.

Cat took her tongue between her teeth. Something just didn't add up. So Smith wasn't sharing with the other Agents. Fair enough; it wasn't like there was too much love lost there. But he'd said something… God, what had he said? All of his doubles were in the one place? Not out tracking Resistants, that's for sure. It didn't seem very Smith-like to ignore a weapon in his hands… Think, Cat, she admonished herself. He's not ignoring it if he's watching it at three in the morning in the living room. Oh. OH. God, this obsession was worse than she thought. "You're not looking for Resistants. You're looking for Neo," she said, voice flat. He didn't respond, but then she hadn't really expected him to.

The silence was pressing in on her again. Cat tried to grab hold of the calm she'd cobbled together, gnawing her bottom lip to distract from the rising panic. It was too much all of a sudden, sitting here, looking at the code, with a goddamn Agent, no less. Maybe Trinity was right, maybe she wasn't cut out for operating. She'd looked at it since, that screen, and not been reminded of the little blips going out, four three two one until nothing was left at all except bodies in the cockpit she'd been terrified to touch, even to bring them to their bunks and so they'd sat behind her, shriveling and stinking as she piloted the ship back to Zion.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and began rocking back and forth, let herself get lost in the feelings like she had so often after she'd landed the ship and the steely, shocked calm that had kept her fit to pilot had cracked.

Smith turned his head, then, and she stopped mid-rock. His eyes – when did he start taking off his glasses himself, she wondered, a small part of her noting that she must be hysterical to think such things at this time – pinned her in place, made her aware of the squeaks slipping out of her mouth. His mouth was compressed into a thin, white line where his lips should have been. Cat's breath caught, silencing all noise in the room, the potluck of guilt and pain and whatnot she liked to wallow in driven out of her head by naked terror. Smith was very, very annoyed indeed.

She stared at him for a few stuttering heartbeats as his mouth turned up at both corners and then he was up, out of the chair and across the room almost faster than she could see, lifting her up off the couch arm by her throat, crushing it. "Don't… he'll… see…" she forced out, going rigid as he only squeezed harder. He's going to kill me, she thought, and the thought froze her. "Drew…"

The hand relaxed fractionally, and she felt her toes just hit the ground so she could just balance on them if she strained, keep from choking to death. Cat longed to gasp, make up for lost air, but Smith's hand was crushing her far too hard for that. She was dangling in front of him, staring into his frigid eyes and terribly aware that a small move could tip her over and cut off the little air she could draw in this awkward position. The grin was gone, and so was the evening's tenseness. His voice was as neutral as his face as he asked, "Who is Drew?"

Somewhere inside, Cat knew she was panicking. It felt distant, though, like somebody else's frantic fright. "Neighbor," she gasped out.

Smith lowered her a fraction more. Now the balls of her feet made contact with the ground, she could almost balance, almost breathe…

"What is… Drew's relevance?"

God, he was so calm, so calm and about to kill her… "Thinks… you… beat… me…"

The hand tightened a bit more. "And where did he receive that impression?"

Godohgodohgodohgod... "He… doctor… defense… wounds.." Smith's hand loosened again. She had to keep talking, convince him… "Says… he's… watching… us." She gasped between each word, staring him in the eye, willing him to make sense of her half-sentences. Oh, God, the hand was tightening again… "You… kill… me… he'll… call… police… Johnson…"

Harder, the hand was crushing harder and her vision swam, and she thought that it looked the tv on a channel you couldn't get with those little black and white dots chasing each other.

Then there was black.


	13. Encounters

Cat cracked her eyes half-open, emitting a cranky little noise. Her legs were all tangled up in the sheets, and some damn thing was pressing into her side just painfully enough to keep her on the edge of sleep. "Dammit," she muttered, shifting into a sitting position, only to slam back down again as her head made contact with the… arm of the sofa?

"Well," she growled as her sleep-addled mind processed just how she'd ended up on the living room floor, "at least I'm not dead." But, she thought, dead might well be preferable to how she actually felt. Sure, she'd healed up some, but spending the night blacked out on the living room floor had a way of reviving those aches and pains. Getting up off said floor was a daunting prospect. It took several groaning tries before she was fully upright. Even then, she stood clutching the couch arm while she waited for her legs to get with the program; small wonder they'd fallen asleep, tucked under her like that all night. Smith must have just left her where she fell.

Smith. Now that name just begged a couple of questions this morning, not least "Why am I not actually dead?" God, his eyes… Forget romance novels where the heroes always had eyes like ice. After a firsthand encounter… Well, icy eyes were anything but romantic. She shivered a little, remembering, then winced as her flight of fantasy jarred more tangible hurts.

She couldn't contain a bitter snicker as she spied Drew out the window at just that moment. "Like the goddamn fairy of abused housewives," she muttered. "You say 'ouch,' and up he pops." She was sure she had a nice new ring of fingermarks around her throat that, knowing her luck, wouldn't escape her neighbor's well-meaning notice.

A knock, and then Drew's head peeped through the open door. "Cat?"

She snorted. "We just get closer every day, you and me. Now, you've got a standing invite to come on in."

"Yeah," Drew said, ducking his head and coloring a little. "I guess chivalry really is dead, huh?"

"Not that I really mind, or anything," Cat said, taking pity on him. He seemed to mean well, and a minute talking to Drew was a minute not spent dwelling on what the hell Smith's deal was. "Anyway, as a Suburban Hostess, I must clearly make you feel welcome by adopting your customs. You need a haircut. And what are you doing here anyway?"

Drew giggled, drawing a grin from Cat; she could get used to a man who giggled, and that was a weak joke at best. Correction: that was downright lame. Maybe her verbal skills were in the brain cells Smith had killed when he cut the oxygen off to her brain.

Shit. Drew was looking at her like he expected an answer. Guess the inner monologue drowned him right out, Cat thought. "Uhm, come again?" she asked.

"I said, I have to run to the hardware store, and I wondered whether you needed anything. You know, so you guys can start to settle?"

Cat forced herself to smile at him. No, Drew was not being condescending. He was being nice. It's not like he was thinking, 'Oh, poor little abused girl. I wouldn't look at her twice otherwise, but now I'll come to the rescue by building things and scaring away the big bad husband.' He was just asking her whether she needed nails to hang pictures with, for God's sake. And she couldn't afford to make him suspicious anyway. Just the thought of him calling in to the police made more fear pool in her stomach, made her realize she'd been afraid all this time. Now that she also had to fear Smith… Not that she hadn't always, really, but last night…

Drew looked more than a little impatient as she again failed to respond. God, she thought, where is my head today? That's right, barely still connected to the rest of me.

She shook her head a little, biting her lip to avoid wincing where Drew could see her. "Sorry about that. I'm sort of recently awake. Anyway, it's sweet of you to offer, but I wouldn't know what to ask for just yet. I haven't so much had time to look the place over."

Drew was looking at her doubtfully, and Cat squashed the urge to flatten her hair down over her neck. It throbbed enough that she was sure there were marks. Maybe he'd think they had always been there? God, he was talking again. She'd better pay attention or he'd think she'd run right off the deep end. "…welcome to come with, if you'd like. I mean, there's a Linens 'n' Things right next door to the hardware store."

"Uhm…"

"I mean, if you're not feeling up to it…" Drew squinted a little. Shit. Those damn throat marks…

Cat tossed her head just enough to make sure all of her hair lay next to her neck. Say something, act normal… God, this was hard. "I was just thinking, it'll take me a little while to get ready to go anywhere. I mean, I know pajamas are a statement and all, but I'm not sure it's one I want to be making."

"You're feeling better, then?"

Cat gritted her teeth, staring at a point beyond Drew's shoulder. "Loads better. Tons. Infinite betterness. Look at completely unbeaten me, Mr. Suspicious."

"Cat, I…"

She sighed, knowing that kicked-puppy look was all her fault. God, her damn temper was gonna get her in trouble one of these days. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. It's just…"

Shit, she thought. Shit, shit, shit. She was going to start crying again, and then Drew would think the worst for sure. Get it together, she urged herself, taking what should have been a steadying breath but was really more like a hiccup.

"It's just what?" Drew asked, voice gentle, eyes soft, reaching out a hand to stroke her wrist.

Cat caught her lip between her teeth. It had been so long since someone had looked at her like that. Like they cared whether she was alive or dead. God knows Neo and Trinity could hardly be bothered to notice her. And Smith? Her lips twisted into a bitter smirk. Who knows where he stood on that score? Talk about blowing hot and cold. Choke a girl, then leave her on the floor instead of finishing the job.

Drew's look of mild alarm snapped Cat back to the present. "Sorry. I am kind of a head case right after I wake up." She giggled nervously, dropped her eyes to the carpet. That should be safe, right? No nasty reminders there, unless, Cat thought, unless you counted the floral pattern that was just nasty in its own rite… God, focus! "Look, don't take this the wrong way, but you're making this awfully hard…"

The fingers that had been stroking her wrist stilled. "What, now?"

She shook her head, still focusing on the carpet. A little truth, maybe, just for a change of pace? "It's just, I had a really nasty accident a couple of days ago, and you come over, and I have to pretend I'm fine and nothing hurts or you're going to call my husband and get him thrown in jail…" She shook her head as he tried to interrupt… "Well it does hurt, but not because my husband is abusing me, but because I had a really nasty accident the other day, and here you are, making me pretend everything's OK, and being all nice, and I'm all bruised and hideous…"

God, she thought, here I go again, with the tears and the hysterics. So much for getting a grip. But it felt so nice to have someone hold her like Drew was now, stroking her hair and muttering soothing things. Her sobbing intensified. There was no sense pretending she could ever have a nice, normal friend like this guy. No, that chance was long gone with the blue pill, and now her world was full of cold people who knew they were bound to die sooner rather than later. I mean, even Trinity and Neo, with their undying love schtick… Where, exactly, was that love? They hardly seemed to speak to one another beyond the sort of necessary talk of warriors, and it was much easier to pick up on a sort of hard-edged desperation between them than anything Cat would call affection. Of course, they were a veritable love fiesta when you compared them to her 'husband…' and oh God she'd done it again, let her mind wander into crazyland while Drew stood there taking notes. He'd be phoning the police for sure, now, after that little display of domestic stability.

Cat forced herself to take deep breaths, calming down enough to stop sobbing. Damage control, she told herself. NOW. Next step, unclenching fingers from Drew's shirt. She pulled away, mortified by the big wet blotch where her head had been, and the shiny patches that could only mean her nose had run as hard as her eyes did. "Uhm…"

Drew ran a hand through his hair, an abashed smile creeping onto his face. "Wow. I guess I didn't see that coming."

"Yeah," Cat sighed, "Me neither, if it makes you feel any better." She giggled wetly. "Look, I'm sorry…"

"No, that's really my line. I didn't even think about what it would be like, with all of this new pressure on you to fit in here, and me adding a nice layer of threats to top things off. I'm a presumptuous bastard…"

Cat dredged up a small grin for that. "Well, a really well-meaning presumptuous bastard. I really didn't mean…"

"No, really, it's OK. You know what they always say, don't bottle it up…" He paused when Cat sighed a little. "OK, I get it. Enough with the amateur psychology. But really, it's a-ok. I didn't mean to push you into that, but, you, um, welcome to talk to me whenever. Or, you know," he pinched the shirt near the wet spot pulling the damp part of the fabric away from his chest, "sob on me, if that's what works for you."

Cat giggled a little bit, prompting a loud snuffle. "God, could I be any grosser?" she muttered.

"If you really put your mind to it, maybe," Drew quipped, eyeing her scruffy pjs. "But, you know, I'm trying to collect the whole set, and I still need a gross friend."

"I guess it's your lucky day," Cat said, passing a wrist under her still-dripping nose.

Drew fished a tissue out of a back pocket and handed it to her. "No need to take the persona too far," he said, grinning. Cat laughed, and accepted the tissue, dabbing at her sticky cheeks. "Anyway, I think that there's a rule someplace that if you make a woman cry you have to buy her ice cream to make up for it. Tell you what, we'll still go on my errand, but we'll go via Baskin-Robbins. Deal?"

"Now, ice cream is an offer I can never refuse," Cat said, hiding her grin behind the tissue. Maybe that outburst hadn't been so monumentally stupid as it seemed. Drew didn't seem to inclined to run to the nearest police call box, after all. And what harm could there be in a little ice cream? It was just to keep the suspicious guy happy, right? "But now I really, really need to get cleaned up."

"Would it be indelicate to say I could use a change my own self?" Drew plucked at his damp shirt again.

"I'm gonna need an hour or so before I even approach presentable." Cat frowned down at her decrepit pajamas. They'd been new, what, three days ago? "Is that too long?"

"Nah. Why don't you pop on by when you're finished?"

Cat gestured at the crutches. "Uhm…"

"Right, then. Or, I'll stop being a moron and bring the car by in an hour or so."

"Ladies and gentleman, an official plan," Cat said, grinning. "Now, shoo. If you can let yourself in, you can let yourself out."

"Yes, ma'am," Drew drawled, mock-bowing as he backed out the door. Cat released a breath as it shut behind him. Sure, he was a nice guy, but Jesus. Dealing with the general public had not been on the menu this… morning? Or was it afternoon now? Cat shook her head. Irrelevant, again. God, she was rattled. Can't even focus on figuring out why the hell Smith went all medieval on me, she thought, eyeing the stairs. She sighed, gearing up for the painful climb. Getting up to the shower was tantamount to going medieval on herself, no suddenly psycho robot-man required.

Somehow or other she creaked up to the bathroom, the pain driving everything else out of her head. It was almost a welcome break from the thoughts that were chasing each other around her skull. "I'm even more of a moody bitch than usual today," she muttered to herself, using both hands to pull a stiff knee over the lip of the tub. She twirled the water taps, hissing as the first frigid spray hit her back. Not exactly comfortable, but a hot shower would make bad swelling worse. Still, the stinging spray was a nice distraction. Cat sighed, burbling as she got water in her mouth for her troubles. She really shouldn't avoid thinking about Smith like this, but she couldn't get her mind around what in the hell could have possessed him the night before. The eerie silence, the violent outburst… God, her purred as he choked her into unconsciousness. PURRED. Who the hell purred, ever, let alone while committing cold-blooded acts of violence? She poked gingerly at her throat, hissing as the pressure, predictably enough, revitalized the throbbing there. At least the ache in her arms as she lifted them to work some shampoo into her scalp distracted from it.

She hustled through the rest of her shower, giving up on drying herself off because it just hurt too damn much to do all that bending. Hey, she thought, here I am, walking around naked in a dead old lady's house waiting for the program that tried to kill me to come back and do it again. Not to mention wondering what in the hell she could put on that wouldn't get her laughed out of Linens 'n' Things… She wasn't so clear on how the pajamas had made it from the hotel room to this house, but maybe there was more where they came from… At least she hoped so; her only other clothing option was the pantsuit she'd been wearing while Smith and Johnson had been taking turns totaling her, and even the ragged pajamas were a step up from that.

She bent painfully to open the drawers of the little bureau in her room. Zip. Not so much as a stray pair of underpants. Although the thought of Smith touching her underpants, even to pack 'em… Bring on the shudders.

God, it hurt to stand up. That was a mixed curse, if there was such a thing. Of course, thinking of how the pain made her not think of Smith and how she had no idea what the hell she was going to do next let alone what the hell he would… Well, she thought, I guess thinking that prettymuch pokes a hole in the original theory. Great. Pain and panic all at once. Next step, deforming boils or something itchy or… God, what is in my head these days, she thought. Keep it together, Cat. "Or at least," she muttered, "open the goddamn closet door while you prattle on in your own mind."

"Jackpot," she hissed, staring at the little box tucked behind an ironing board in the closet. Left behind, just like the floral curtains and the overpowering scent of gardenias. The last person who had touched this must have been ninety-five. "I am not thinking about the fact that the person who these illusory clothes belonged to, and how she has been reconstituted into nutritious goo," she said, more to fill the suddenly creepy room than anything. Her mood was practically a pendulum today, running between blind terror and irritation and insecurity and god knows what. Why not superstition? The ghost of old ladies past might be a relief. But first things first. That was definitely fabric poking out of the box. Wrap skirt possibility at the very least.

She shook out what must have been the old lady's good suit, wrinkling her nose as the moth balls hit. She absolutely positively had no reason to feel fat because it wouldn't fit her if she was cut in two, because old ladies are supposed to be tiny, anyway. Hence "little old lady." They were… withered, that's what. Ok, no suit. Definitely no pencil pants with retro detail that was probably less retro and more the real thing… One item between her and the box bottom, not to mention total humiliation.

"Oh, god," she muttered. Well, better this than blood-soaked pants. Not much better… But she could tell Drew it was because she had abdomen wounds, right? Now, was it grosser to wear underwear for the third day running, or none at all? Under a mumu… "Gross, thrice-worn panties it is," she muttered, grabbing the jungle-print thing she was reluctant to call a garment and shuffling back to the bathroom to retrieve the bra and undies that had really seen better days. As in the days before she plucked them off the store shelves.

She supposed there was some kind of cosmic justice that would make it hurt to put on a mumu. Sort of like electroshock therapy for fashion insanity. Of course, the average mumu wearer wouldn't have to wedge herself into the damn thing. That was the whole point of the mumu experience. Cat cringed as she looked at herself in the still-steamy mirror. She had to be the only person in the history of creation to wear a mumu that clutched in the middle. She turned to the side. God, it outlined The Belly in gruesome detail. She could see the hollow of her belly button no matter how hard she sucked in. That old lady must have been heavy on the little, because if this was meant to be loose-fitting…

"Not. Thinking. About. It," Cat growled at the mirror, beginning to apply the makeup she'd happened to have in her purse when forced to flee her nice, cushy hotel room filled with clothes that fit, thankyouverymuch. She drew breaths through gritted teeth. She had been an operator for years, she reminded herself. You don't stay in that chair if you can't be cool under fire. So what if fire didn't so much come in the form of really ugly clothes and well-meaning neighbors? Holding it together was life and death, so she was just going to consider it held. Maybe a really knockout hair-and-makeup job could distract from the unholy mix of leopard and giraffe print that might give out and leave her exposed to the nice, well dressed housewives of the world at any minute if the straining seams were any indication. Cat couldn't suppress a snicker. If Trinity could see her now… "Out of the catsuit and into the fucking fire."

There. Cat was, in her considered opinion, as close to presentable as she was likely to get. Nothing to be done about the bruises, really, but her hair was combed, pinned and hairsprayed to within an inch of its life to hide her neck, and she was wearing mascara. Not bad, for the victim of a tragic accident a couple of days ago. Maybe Drew would let her borrow his jacket, and it would cover up the unpleasant spectacle of flab encased by thin cotton. "Could be way worse," she muttered, giving her head one last coating of hairspray just in case.

She froze as she heard the door slam. Drew, or…? She toddled out of the bathroom onto the stairs, just in time to catch a glimpse of a suit-clad shoulder. "Is way worse," she whispered. God, there was no way she could run from him under the best of circumstances, and certainly not now… But he hadn't killed her, he easily could have… Maybe he had no plans to. Maybe he wanted her to be conscious when he did it. Oh, God. Her left hand flew to her throat, causing her product-stiff hair to crackle. But Drew was coming… When was he coming? Less than an hour, he said, and it must have taken her nearly that long to get showered and dressed. God, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Drew did bring Johnson down on their heads. The newer Agent would distract Smith, and she could spend the rest of her time here holed up somewhere where nothing electronic even thought about existing to give her away. She was too unimportant for anyone to look too hard for her if she didn't give them as easy signal to trace. That is, if Smith didn't have his own weird method of tracking her, and didn't want her dead out of sheer spite and oh God, there he was at the foot of the stairs.

"Look," she babbled at a frantic pace, "I dunno what I did that set you off, but you just tell me and I'll never do it again, I swear, and Drew, he's coming over, I convinced him you don't hit me, or at least I think I convinced him and…" She went silent and chalk-pale as Smith's eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened an all-too-familiar signal of his irritation. She stared at him round-eyed, waiting for him to give her an order, an insult, something… She repressed the sudden urge to giggle. His face had relaxed and he looked almost… puzzled. He hadn't expected her to shut up so easily, most likely.

"Ms. Thompson," Smith said, and Cat almost missed the usual seething malice that would have livened up this creepily flat tone, "I find no further benefit in continued association with you until such time as the Oracle becomes available. You will remain on the upper level of this building from the hours of eight pm to nine am each day."

Cat suppressed the urge to say, "Or else?" At least I'm learning something, she thought. An in any case, maybe this wasn't such a bad development. She could hide upstairs with the door locked all the time, no more worrying about when she'd set this volatile machine-man on a choking rampage. Screw the mission. It wasn't like she was an extraordinarily successful spy anyway; all her attempts to gather information had ended in violence of one kind or another, if only to her psyche. But then Trinity might very well think she was entirely useless and send her right back into the nasty metal tunnels of the promised-land-my-ass Zion…

She was saved from decision-induced paralysis by the rumble of a familiar-looking SUV further up the street. "Shit," she said, "that's Drew coming to get me, and if he thinks we're having another fight he'll call the police for sure and bring Johnson down on both our heads." She gestured as if to grab Smith's wrist, then flinched away violently. Yeah, she thought, I'm learning, all right. "Come on. We'll sit on the couch and turn the tv on and look like a normal, non-abusive couple and deal with the whole no-contact exile thing in a minute, OK?"

Smith's eyes were narrow again, but he seated himself on the couch ramrod straight as Cat fiddled with the cable box. What did normal, stable couples watch together? Not a comedy, none of those violent HBO dramas – wouldn't do to give Smith too many ideas. Ah, Jeopardy. Always a safe bet.

She eased down on the couch next to Smith, staring straight at the tv. But, she mused, out of sight, out of mind didn't work so well if you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise from the creepy presence of your couchmate. So this is what it actually feels like when your skin crawls. Cat clutched the hem of her mumu with hands that had already started to shake, willing herself to relax. It wouldn't do to look as though she were afraid of her husband in front of Drew, even if she wanted to pee her pants now that she'd put herself within easing throttling distance. "Not so rigid," she muttered, eyes fixed on the carpet. "We have to look happy. He already suspects something, so we have to calm him down or you'll catch it as well as me, with no place left to run to and make new legions of Smiths. Normal, happy, married couple, that's us."

Cat tried to contain her flinch as Smith dropped a hand on her shoulders, arm around her as casually as any boy at the movies with his teenybopper girlfriend. If, Cat thought with a snort, said boy was in the habit of wearing expensive suits. Good, this was good, she'd distracted herself enough to lean back to rest her head on his arm without increasing the mortal terror levels too much. The slam of a car door in the driveway sent her jackknifing back up again. Jesus, enough with the jumpiness, Cat told herself, relaxing back down into Smith's hold. That is, until his hand clenched on her shoulder and wrenched her around to face him. Rigid, panting, heart thrumming a million miles an hour as she stared into his cold, cold eyes, she thought, this is it. I'm going to get killed with witnesses.

She opened her mouth to scream but all that came out was a strangled squeak as Smith wrenched again, and all of a sudden her mouth impacted his, her lips mashing painfully against teeth. Her mouth, still open from that half-scream, suddenly played host to Smith's plundering tongue. Cat was dead sure that she was going to throw up from sheer fright, but hell, she'd kill anyone who threw up into her mouth and Smith was liable to be a little quicker on the trigger. There was more pressure on her shoulder and she found herself splayed awkwardly in Smith's lap. What in God's name… Look like a couple, she'd said, not an adult video… Where in the hell had he picked this up? Shit, he must have learned this from skeezoids in the park, where she'd foolishly told him to scout out human behavior days ago.

Ok, Cat, look natural, she told herself. Drew is in your driveway and he'll see you looking like you think you're about to get your head ripped off, which is an increasingly unlikely possibility. Ok, natural. As in, not sitting here like a board, she thought. Drew could probably see their little floor show, but Smith's bruising grip meant she wasn't going anywhere. Well, no choice but the "caught up in the moment" look, Cat thought. She snaked one arm around Smith's side and dared to bury the other hand in his surprisingly silky hair. From there, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to tentatively prod Smith's invading tongue with her own. Oh… OH!

How had she come to be smashed so tight up against him, not to mention the straddling…? Oh, God, Agents were definitely anatomically correct. Well, in the interests of scientific curiosity and keeping up the disguise… She ground herself in Smith's lap, and the contact drew a groan from her but Smith didn't bat an eye. Not a programmed to respond, then? But he was definitely hard… Maybe it was just his usual inscrutability? Or maybe… She shoved a hand between then and teased and squeezed. Was that a hiss? Whatever it was, it fled from Cat's head as Smith fastened teeth and lips onto her neck. She moaned, leaning back so that she was only anchored to Smith by a hand clutching his head in place and the spot where their groins rubbed. She began to writhe in Smith's lap, tossing her head back to encourage further exploration. Smith's tongue flicked into the hollow of her collarbone; she gasped, her eyes flew open… and in the corner of her field of vision… "Drew?"

Drew had stuck his head through the door and seemed to have frozen in place. His face was, unsurprisingly, deep red, eyes huge and mouth hanging open. "Cat… Uhm… You might want to… uhm… close the curtains…"

She tried to clamber out of Smith's lap, but his hands held her too hard for comfort at a hip and shoulder. She spared a moment to glare at him and was nearly startled into giggling. Smith was smirking at Drew, a territory-claiming Grin of Testosterone if ever there was one. Jesus, Cat thought, he must have learned his "couple behavior" from some kid on a motorbike with an attitude problem. Mmmm… Smith on a motorbike… FOCUS, Cat she told herself, turning her face to Drew. "And you might want to actually, you know, knock."

Drew ducked his head, stammered, "Sorry… I… uhm… I'll come back at a better time," and disappeared behind the closing door. Cat tried to disengage from Smith again, but he was still holding her hard, smirking at something beyond her shoulder. Cat turned to look and there was a rattled Drew, fumbling his car keys and trying with only partial success not to stare back into the living room. Cat couldn't help herself. She threw back her head and laughed, releasing all of the nervous energy and adrenaline she'd locked up, giddy with a heady cocktail of arousal and the sharp knowledge that Smith might decide to pick up where he'd left off on her throat at any moment. And God, didn't that have connotations beyond "squeeze the life out of me" now…

Her laughter came in short, barking gasps and Cat knew she'd passed into hysteria a while ago, but really, who could blame her? Smith's growl brought her up short. "Ms. Thompson. Remove yourself." She stared down and realized she was hanging on Smith by one arm looped round his neck and a hand shoved down into his very rumpled suit pants. God, she didn't even remember putting her hand there in the first place. She launched into fresh gales of nervous laughter until Smith gripped the wrist just above his waistband with bruising force. "Remove yourself," he said, jaw as tight as she'd ever seen it and then the familiar wash of gut terror replaced the more confusing sources of adrenaline. She scrambled off Smith's lap and began to flee for the stairs, jerked to a full stop that jarred her bruised shoulder hard enough that she couldn't suppress a scream. Smith still had her wrist in that crushing grip. She turned back to him, breathing hard, and was greeted with a rictus smile that made her want to throw up all over again. Smith yanked on her wrist, then patted the sofa next to him in a parody of courtesy. "We have things to discuss."

……………………………………………………………

So, I am bad at life and decided to overhaul this chapter quite a lot after the first beta. I think it's the better for it; it's certainly longer. This does mean the wait was more like two weeks than two days. I hope to do faster than that, but maybe take this as standard. Also, the newly raised rating is for language and, well, yeah.

Second… Well, I suppose every forgetful author half-imagines that she will have a Triumphant Return to fandom when she does begin to write again. I knew that was not in the cards… But… well… I would really appreciate it if you would take time to drop a review, even if it's just like, "FUN" or "YOU ARE STUPID." In particular, though, I'd be really excited about some constructive criticism. Do you wish we'd spend less time with Cat when Momentous Events aren't happening? More Smith POV? I'd like to hear what you think, and while I can't promise I'll follow all suggestions, I'll think about it. And if nothing else, it's super encouraging. For instance, I was puttering around, tinkering and making teeny editing changes to this chapter, and I finally just decided that enough was enough because AgentBach prettymuch made my day.  And no, this is not me attempting blackmail. I'll keep on posting at roughly the same pace no matter what.

For you all who did review:

SB: Well, the "MUWHAHA!" will not be resisted. In fact, I sometimes quite involuntarily do it myself, when I'm a little on the malicious side. My roommates are fond of this habit. But I would totally get killed, were I dominating the world and then stopped to think how pleased I am with myself. Lives are goodness; I kind of have one too, but work equals downtime equals fanfic, so here we go. 

Aldana: Yay! I am so glad you're enjoying. I really appreciate the review. And, well, here's some more Cat-y goodness for you.  Do let me know if you like, or if you have any suggestions.

AgentBach: Well, here's the update in question. I hope you enjoy. Thanks for helping jar me out of my cycle of perfectionism. 


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